


though tides may change

by ottelis



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Bipolar Disorder, Childhood Friends, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Innocence, Lucas is sad, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Near Death, Slow Burn, and the world around them is constantly changing, but they'll get through it i promise, eliott and lucas are the same age for simplicity's sake, eliott and lucas have loved each other their whole lives but they're both so scared, eliott is sad, everyone is sad, light fluff, mama lallemant and papa and mama demaury are angels, papa lallemant is a demon, there will be content/trigger warnings at the beginning of every chapter, this is the big sad club and all are welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 94,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottelis/pseuds/ottelis
Summary: "I gave you my life, Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine.""No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."..aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 114
Kudos: 144





	1. epigraph;

_"Look back on time with kindly eyes,_

_He doubtless did his best;_

_How softly sinks his trembling sun_

_In human nature's west!"_

-Emily Dickinson, 1890

_"Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth_

_And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,_

_Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,_

_And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:_

_And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,_

_Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand."_

-William Shakespeare, sonnet 60

_"That time_

_I thought I could not_

_go any closer to grief_

_without dying_

_I went closer,_

_and I did not die."_

-Mary Oliver, "Heavy" from Thirst

_"I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two people:_

_that each protects the solitude of the other._

_This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love:_

_the more they give, the more they possess."_

-Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet


	2. 01—homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott remembers a night when Lucas comes to him for comfort / Eliott ponders, worries on the train ride home from Paris / Eliott and his mother talk in the car / Eliott reunites with Lucas / Eliott receives welcome home gifts from his mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: brief depictions of anxiety/panic attacks, very brief reference to child abuse, uses of the q slur, mildly graphic discussions of a suicide attempt

_october 22nd, 1962_

_01:34_

_caen, france_

~

_Outside Eliott's window, the waves sigh against the shore and rest their weary heads on the cool, silver sand. They hold each other, breathing together until they both slip into a dreamless sleep, fading into the depths of the sea. The wind drifts breezily along, whispering its secrets to anyone who is awake and willing to listen; secrets so dark and hidden it leaves a sharp chill in the air and a bitter tang on your tongue. The moon stands guard on her throne in the dark, inky sky—darker than usual—and welcomes all the lonely souls wandering through the night into her embrace. She is the one weaving the waves and the shore together, the one giving the wind the courage to speak its mind. "All is well," she seems to whisper, sing, "There is a calm after the storm, a peace after the war, a warmth and a comfort when burning heat fades away. Brave through, my darlings. To be brave is to be alive, to be well. All I ask is that you remember, still, to be gentle all the while."_

_Inside Eliott's room, the only light is glowing from the flashlight clasped in his hand like a lifeline. Its beam shines on yellowed, weathered pages filled with words that his eyes drink in hungrily, almost desperately. He's tucked himself away beneath his blanket, the fabric seeming to float just above his skin, leaving the softest touches and the gentlest warmth. Everything is quiet, still, here in this little corner of the gaping world he's created for himself. Here, it's warm, and as wide and as bright as he wanted it to be. Here, he has his books. Here, he has himself and his mind and his heart. Here, he has time halted in its tracks, and it wouldn't continue to tick forward until he told it to. Here, he has all of space at his fingertips, stars leaving freckles that scattered up his arms. Here, he is safe. Here, he rules the world._

_Outside, a pebble clatters against Eliott's windowsill, startling him out of his hiding place._ Lucas _, he thinks. They agreed what felt like years ago that if Lucas ever needed something, he would throw a rock at Eliott's window. But it's late. Lucas only ever needed to come in this late when—_

_Eliott throws off his comforter, panic shocking time and space back to their natural rhythms. He hurries as quietly as he can down the stairs and to the back door, careful not to wake his parents. He opens the door, an autumn gust sweeping over him. Lucas is standing there, his eyes bleary with tears, his cheeks rosy from the cold, his hand hovered by his mouth with his teeth clamped onto the end of his sleeve. He's trying to stay quiet, hold back the sobs. He's shivering._

_"Lucas, what's wrong?" Eliott asks, placing his hands on Lucas's shoulders. "Did he hurt you again?"_

_Lucas's tears started to fall, but he shakes his head. He slowly pulls his sleeve away from his mouth so he could answer, his lower lip quivering. But all his sobs escape. He throws his arms around Eliott. With a trembling breath, with a hiccup, Lucas finally replies, "He left, Eliott."_

_Eliott's heart drops to his feet. He holds Lucas as tightly as he can. He feels his tears soaking through his shirt, feels his body trembling with the force of his sobs. He feels tears of his own wet his cheeks. He doesn't say a word. He lets Lucas cry. He shields him from the cold, bitter wind; Lucas doesn't need its secrets when he already has so many of his own. He waits for Lucas, patiently, gently._

_"Let's go inside," Eliott suggests once Lucas started to calm down. "Okay?"_

_"Okay," Lucas agrees, sniffling._

_Eliott releases Lucas from his tight hug, instead taking his hand to guide him up to his room. Lucas bites his sleeve again, looking nervously towards Eliott's parents' bedroom._

_"It's okay," Eliott reassures him. "They're asleep."_

_Lucas nods, letting his hand drop to his side._

_Eliott opens his bedroom door and enters, turning on the lamp on his bedside table. A small, warm light breaks through the darkness of the room, barely mingles with the darkness outside. Eliott turns to Lucas, his blood suddenly running cold when he sees all the tear stains on his face. He bites his lip, forcing back his tears. He needs to be strong right now. For Lucas._

_"Let's sit on my bed," Eliott manages, his voice wavering. He sits, gently tapping the spot next to him._

_Lucas nods, another tear slipping down his cheek. He sits, too, letting out a trembling sigh. Words start spilling out of his mouth before Eliott could find his own words, the right words._

_"They couldn't stop arguing," Lucas starts, his voice thin. "They were arguing before Maman took me to school, and they started arguing again when Papa got home from work. I hid in my room and tried to block out all the noise but I could still hear all of it. Papa was yelling at her, and I could hear her crying. He... He kept saying that she was insane, and he was threatening to send her to an asylum. He said he wanted to leave, and that he should have left years ago. He said he should've left her at the altar. He said he should've left when she told him she was going to have a baby. He said he should've left the day I, that queer, was born. Maman tried to talk to him but he wouldn't listen. Every time she tried to, he would scream at her and tell her to shut up. And then I heard him walk towards their room. And I heard Maman crying and begging him to stay. Then—"_

_Lucas started to crumble again, more rivers of tears streaming down his face. "I think he hit her. And then he left."_

_Eliott wraps his arms around Lucas again, speechless, anger beginning to boil in his stomach._

_"He left us, Eliott," Lucas weeps, clinging to Eliott's shirt. "And he's not coming back. And I had to hold Maman while she cried. She's asleep now, but... I don't know what we're going to do. We can't survive by ourselves. We need Papa. But he hurts us. He hurts Mama and he yells at her when she didn't do anything wrong. And when I do something wrong, he hits me and he hits me and he—"_

_"Lucas," Eliott begs, his voice breaking. "It's okay. You're safe here."_

_Eliott feels completely helpless as he holds Lucas tighter, closer to his chest. So, he promises him that everything will be okay. No matter how far time stretches away from him, no matter how many tears he sheds, no matter how much it feels like his world is crashing around his ears. He promises him that he's not alone. And a small part of Eliott hopes he isn't lying to him through his teeth._

* * *

_june 21st, 1968_

_08:22_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wakes with a start, instantly blinded by a curtain of sunlight. He blinks through it until his vision clears, then studies his surroundings. A green, luscious forest streaks by through the window, awakened and enlivened by the newborn spring. The sky is clear, a light, crystal blue. He hears the chatter of the other passengers—hushed whispers, joyous laughter, excited gossiping. He sees men reading the newspaper, women with their children in their laps, workers in their uniforms sipping cups of coffee. They all seem ordinary, mundane. It's comforting, almost. How Earth seems to move smoothly, gradually as her people help her along. Walking forward together, guiding her through her orbit, through the universe.

Eliott wonders what the other people on the train would think if they happened to look over and see him. They must see tired, bleary eyes, messy, tousled hair, an old, worn out coat two sizes too small. Can they see the fear that's settled deep in his bones, just underneath his skin? Can they feel his fear that nothing will ever be the same again, that everything has already changed too much? That the world he once controlled has moved on, has found its own orbit without him? Can they see right through him? Can they see all the shame, the secrets, the trauma? Do they pity him? Do they understand his pain, see him in the echoes of their own? Would they just ignore him? Write him off as some strange, young man they saw on the train one day?

Eliott blinks, biting his lip. He can't think about any of that right now. He's supposed to be happy. He's coming home! After almost two, long years, he's finally coming home!

He remembers his sweet, lovely Maman. She came to visit him as often as she could, of course, but now he gets to go home with her. He gets to hug her and hold her close as long as he wants to without nurses telling them visiting hours were over. He gets to see her smile and laugh without a sadness in her eyes as she realizes she'll have to leave him again. He gets to sit in the living room with her and watch TV, or linger in the kitchen while she makes tea and cookies. He gets to spend his birthday and Christmas with her again. He gets to celebrate her birthday, too, Mother's Day. She gets to be his mother again, and he gets to be her son again. He gets to fall asleep every night knowing she's just down the hall if he needs her. Everything will be normal again. Maybe she'll start singing again, like she used to before Papa died. He misses hearing her sing while she wanders around the house.

He remembers Lucas, his best friend, and maybe something more. Lucas hasn't been able to visit him since he's finishing _lycée_ , but they've written letters to each other whenever they could. Eliott has always wondered what Lucas looks like now, now that he must be all grown up. He's wondered if Lucas has changed, if his smile is a little more genuine now, if he's learned that the fire within him is something he should embrace, letting it give him the courage that's buried somewhere in there, too. He wonders if he's spent as many restless, reckless nights as he has dreaming of him. He wonders if Lucas misses him as much as he does. He wonders if Lucas knows he misses him. How he's missed kissing him as slow and deep as the sun sinking into the horizon, how he's missed weaving his hands through his hair until they got lost in its tangles. Has Lucas waited for him, patiently, gently? Or has he moved on? Has he found someone else? Someone better, someone kinder, someone who loves him more than Eliott can? Everything should be normal with his mother, but what about with Lucas? Eliott loves Lucas with everything inside of him, but does Lucas still love him, too?

 _He loves me,_ his mind begins to chant, beg. _He loves me, he loves me, he loves me. I_ need _him to love me. Please._

If Eliott closes his eyes, he can see them together in his room that day, the books in their laps falling to the floor as Eliott deepened the kiss, the dying, golden rays of sunlight smiling down on them. He can see Lucas, his brilliant, blue eyes suddenly subdued and darkened with desire, desperation. He can feel his heart slowing in his chest, swaying to the rhythm of Lucas's. He can feel his lungs expanding, greedy for more of the air that was suddenly hanging still and silent between them. He can taste Lucas, salty air and sleep. He remembers the fleeting image of his parents finding them slipping through his mind, and how his world ending was less terrifying than this one, blissful moment ending a second earlier than it needed to. Eliott could never find the courage to believe in infinity until he kissed Lucas, loved him. Suddenly, he'd found the strength to fight for infinity, for the boy in his arms.

If Eliott closes his eyes, Lucas still loves him.

If Eliott closes his eyes, infinity is still within his grasp.

But his eyes are open, and the train suddenly begins to lurch to a stop. 

_What a luxury,_ he thinks, _t_ _o come and go as you please. To change along with the world; move forward along with it._

The other passengers begin to gather their things, rising from their seats. The coffee is cold, the gossip has run dry, and there's no more news for today. They must move on. And so must Eliott.

He stands, however slowly, picking up and holding his suitcase with a desperate grip. He lets people walk past him and smiles politely, gathering the courage to keep moving, to live as he once did. He waits until he's the last one aboard, then walks down the aisle, hoping he can turn his mind off, just for a moment.

 _Remember Maman,_ he tells himself. _Remember Lucas. Remember home._

He steps off the train, looking out at the crowded platform. He used to know everyone that lived in his quaint, little town, but now, he doesn't recognize anyone. A million, blurred faces he doesn't know. And he's a stranger to them, too. There are people in the town he's called home his whole life that don't know who he is, that he even exists. Don't they know him? Eliott! Noémie and Eduard's boy! The artist! The one who flew off to the cuckoo's nest! Don't they remember him?

They pass him by, barely bothering to glance at him over their shoulders. They don't know him. They don't remember him. He's a stranger.

Eliott grips the handle of his suitcase tighter, feeling pressure build up in his knuckles. He just needs to find his mother then she can take him home and he'll be safe. Everything will go back to normal. Everything _has_ to go back to normal.

A small jolt sparks through him, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders but leaving an odd, unpleasant taste in his mouth. He blinks, biting his lip. He focuses on searching the crowd, looking for dark hair and warm eyes and a gentle smile. He takes a few, careful steps forward, flinching whenever someone bumped into him as they walked on. He feels like he's swimming, the current threatening to sweep him away, further out into the ocean. He starts walking faster, his eyes flickering all around the old, bustling train station. He's getting overwhelmed again, like the doctors always said was almost too easy for him to do. He feels the jolt again, barely, like a ghost, a memory. He tries to ignore it.

 _"Things are going to be difficult at first when you come home, Eliott," one of the doctors had said. "You'll have to readjust to society. It'll feel like you're starting over from scratch. It's important you still try and control your symptoms. Take your medication. Okay? Like we've been practicing while you were here. And if you ever feel like that isn't working, we are opening a psychiatric office just outside Caen. You won't be institutionalized like you were here, but you'll be able to visit often and they'll help you feel better. You_ will _feel better, Eliott. You're going to be okay."_

"I'll be okay," Eliott repeats under his breath. "I'll feel better."

He takes one more step forward, and he feels like he can breathe again. He looks behind him and sees the current continuing, surging. He sighs in relief. He's made it to shore.

"Eliott?" his mother's sweet, frail voice calls, somehow piercing all the noise of the station.

He whirls forward, and then he sees her. His mother. She's grinning like she used to, tears rolling down her cheeks. She holds her arms out to him, warm and wide. He runs to her without a moment's hesitation and falls into them. He has his mother again.

He holds her as tightly as he can, breathing in her familiar scent. He feels her tremble with her tears, and he shushes her quietly, comfortingly.

"I'm here, Maman," he says, beginning to weep himself. "I'm home."

"Don't be gone for that long again," she tells him. "I can't stand it."

"I can't control it, Maman," Eliott replies, biting his lip. "But I'll try."

His mother pulls away, holding his face in her hands. Her smile wavers, wobbling into a frown. "You look so much like your father."

Eliott feels sadness twinge in his chest, too. "I know."

He bites back a sob as he remembers a question that's lingered in the back of his mind since his father died, one he's never gotten to ask his mother. "Do you think Papa would be proud of me?"

His mother wipes away his tears. "He _is_ proud of you, dear. I know it."

He pulls her into another hug, burying his face in her shoulder. "I miss him so much."

"He misses you, too, Ellie," she reassures him, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

The old nickname brings a smile to his face. He lets out a little laugh. "Thank you, Maman. I love you."

"I love you, too," she returns, chuckling, too. She pulls away again. "Let's get you home. Okay?"

It's still hard to stomach the thought of going back home after so long, but he already feels exhausted. He misses his house, his bed, Lucas.

_Lucas._

"Okay," Eliott agrees. "Maman, Lucas is still here, right?"

"Of course he is," she smiles. "I thought about asking him to come with me to get you, but I figured you'd want to surprise him."

"He..." Eliott begins, stuttering a little. "He doesn't know I'm coming home?"

She nods, her smile widening. "As far as I know."

"How's he doing?" Eliott asks, anxiety beginning to settle in his stomach.

"He's well, I think," she replies. "He's graduated _lycée_ , and he's heading off to medical school in the fall."

Eliott can't fight his smile. Lucas had always wanted to become a doctor when he grew up. But then his smile fell almost as quickly as it appeared.

"In Paris, right?" he mutters, biting his lip.

"I think so, dear," his mother answers, placing her hands on his shoulders. "But Paris isn't too far. We could always go visit him every once in a while if you wanted to."

Eliott nods. He can _feel_ his hope being chipped away, falling to the earth like ash. It _hurts_.

"You have the whole summer to be with him and catch up," she says, noticing his shifting demeanor. "And I don't think he's going to give up on you without a fight."

Eliott manages another smile. "Thank you."

"Let's go ahead and get you to him. Okay?"

Eliott nods. "Okay."

* * *

_june 21st, 1968_

_09:00_

_caen, france_

~

The car ride home was almost unbearable. The radio was full of songs he'd never heard, and the ones he sang at the top of his lungs before his breakdown had all but disappeared. There were so many new buildings, some so tall Eliott had to crane his head to see the top of them. Buildings were this tall back in Paris, not back home.

"When did they build that?" Eliott asks, pointing at an especially tall, commercial building.

"I think it opened about a year after you left," his mother answers. "Things have changed a lot around here, dear. I wish you could've seen all of it when it was happening."

Eliott doesn't respond at first. He closes his eyes, imagining the town he knew before his life changed forever. Before his father died, before that day at the beach with Lucas, before his breakdown, before his diagnosis, before his long, long stay at the institution. The town with the quaint houses, old brick and mortar shops, tranquil fields of lush grass and clean, quiet beaches. The town with an almost constantly cloudy sky, the town that always has a chill in its air, the town with millions of drops of blood crying vengeance from deep within its soil. The town that cradled Eliott but then left him to die all alone on the cold, hard ground. This town holds everything he's ever loved, everything he's ever hated or regretted, everything he's tried so hard to forget, and now he doesn't even recognize it if he opens his eyes.

"Me too," Eliott finally says, more melancholic than wistful.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting the music play and the car move onward, hopefully towards something familiar, someone he loves.

_He loves me, he loves me, he loves me_

"Eliott," his mother begins, making Eliott open his eyes again. "I can tell what you're thinking. You've been gone a long time. No one expects you to put on a smile and act like everything is still normal."

"I _want_ everything to be normal," Eliott mutters. "More than anything."

"They'll be normal again soon, honey," she replies, looking over at him with her unwavering kindness in her eyes. "Just take your time. Let yourself heal. You need it."

"I was supposed to heal at the institution," Eliott sighs. "And I did. Now I have to heal all over again?"

His mother considers for a moment, biting her lip. "Healing never really ends, Eliott. There's always something that can be fixed or mended. We just need to hold our hand out to the healing, and once it takes it, it'll guide you through the hurt. And it'll never let go. It's a gift. A blessing. A friend. It's _warm_."

"Why can't the healing stop the hurt, then?" Eliott asks, getting tearful again. "Why can't it find some other path to take, or clear the one we're walking on if we do have to walk on it? Why do I have to hurt to feel the healing?"

"Maybe the healing needs us as much as we need it."

Eliott isn't sure. He sighs, letting his mother's answer hang in the air, and she lets it hang, too. Maybe one day he'll believe everything she said.

Suddenly, distantly, he can hear the gentle crashing of the waves against the shore. He can hear the water _breathe_ , the sand call out its name. Oh, how he's _missed_ that sound. He looks out the window, and he can just barely see the beach. He's missed the pale sand, the smell of salt in the air...

His mother must have noticed him gawking. "You missed the beach, didn't you?" she asks, smiling.

"So much," he breathes. "I can't wait to swim again. It's been so long since I've..." He breaks off, the beginnings of unwelcome memories infiltrating his mind. He sees his mother's smile falter.

"Sorry," he mutters. 

"It's okay," she replies, so quiet Eliott almost didn't hear it. "It's okay," she repeats, louder. "You're home now."

Eliott nods, letting himself smile again. "I'm home."

Eliott keeps looking out the window, watching the waves ripple and curl like ribbons on the horizon. He feels a million emotions swirling around in his chest, his mind. He remembers splashing and laughing and building sandcastles. He remembers choppy waves, cold, biting water, salt burning his eyes. He feels relief, panic, love, abandonment. He wonders if the water is still the same, or if it's not, if it'll ever be the same again.

"Eliott, look," his mother says, pointing ahead.

He looks, and his heart begins to soar. Just ahead, he can see his childhood home with its white, brick walls and faded, gray roof. There's still little ropes of ivy climbing the side of it, it's just climbed a little farther now. There's still the steel blue front door, wooden porch, window shutters. There's still the little bushes lining the driveway, green and alive. It's his house. The one he grew up in, the one he fell in love in, the one he slept in every night, the one where he drank thousands of cups of tea and ate thousands of biscuits. It's _his house_.

And if he looks just beyond it, he can see Lucas's house. He smiles wider. Lucas must be in there, watching TV or reading a book and not suspecting for a moment that Eliott was just down the street, heading straight toward him. Eliott imagines knocking on the door and Lucas bursting into tears when he opens it and sees him standing there. He imagines them finding somewhere private and kissing again; kissing and breathing the same air and laughing and existing together again. He imagines things going back to normal, everything falling smoothly back into its natural rhythm again. He imagines him being okay, and being okay with Lucas by his side. Is he foolish, too hopeful, for imagining these things?

"I can't wait to surprise Lucas," Eliott says aloud, his excitement beginning to brim and spill over.

"He shouldn't be expecting a thing, dear," his mother replies, winking. She pulls into their driveway and parks their car. "Now go knock on his door and talk with him again. I'll be inside, okay?"

"Okay," Eliott grins. "Thank you, Maman. I love you so much." He unbuckles his seat belt and gives her another hug.

"You're welcome, dear. I love you, too," she returns, hugging him back.

He lets her go and takes a deep breath. He's about to meet Lucas again after two years. Either his worse nightmare or his fondest dream is about to come true. He opens the car door, and steps out.

He makes the short walk to Lucas's house, running his fingers along his bottom lip, a nervous habit. He breathes slowly, taking in all the sights and sounds and smells—the birds crying as they float along the surface of the sky, the salt rising from the water and soaking into everything, the earth, the air. He holds his head high and strides up to the Lallemants' front door. He takes another deep breath before knocking.

"I'll answer it, Maman," Lucas's voice calls from the other side of the door. His _voice_! The very sound of it makes Eliott's heart break open, spilling out all the love it's held for him. He bites back his tears, letting the joy sweep over him. He holds his breath as he hears footsteps grow louder as they approach. He feels like he's dreaming the dreams that came to him almost every night at the institution; the eyes that rival the sea, the sky. The smile that rivals the sun, the moon. The voice that rivals the waves, the windchimes at the front porch. The boy who lives at the border between darkness and light, the boy who buries himself in numbers and figures but only truly gets lost gazing at the stars, the boy Eliott's loved his whole life—

The door opens, and there stands Lucas Lallemant. He's an inch or two taller, just barely reaching Eliott's chin. His face is fuller, his cheekbones sharper. His hair is longer, pointing in almost every direction. Then his blue, blue eyes widen and his pink, pink lips part in shock.

 _He's beautiful_ , Eliott thinks.

"Eliott?" Lucas breathes, the name strangled in his throat.

"Surprise," Eliott replies cheekily, smiling and tilting his head. Before he can catch himself, his tears start rolling down his cheeks and he envelops Lucas in his arms. He holds him tighter with a new strength, with an old love and fondness. "I've missed you more than anything in any universe, my love."

Lucas hugs him back, carefully, hesitantly. "And I, you."

Eliott could hold Lucas in his arms for a million years if he had to. He'd spend every moment running smooth circles over his skin, playing with his hair, breathing him in—his smell, his breathing, his thoughts, his heartbeats. He'd spend every moment trying to get closer and closer, silently hoping one day he'll melt into him and they'll never have to leave each other. Maybe, when they collided, they'd explode into a whole other universe—a whole other parallel universe as Lucas always talked about—one where Eliott wasn't sick, one where Lucas didn't carry so much weight, so many scars. _Their_ universe.

"Eliott," Lucas whispers, almost _afraid_. "Can... Can we talk?"

Eliott ignores the twinge in his chest, the tug at the back of his mind. He pulls away, his hands drifting down and taking Lucas's. "Down by the water?"

"No," Lucas replies, too quickly. "I don't go down there anymore. If I can help it."

"Why?" Eliott asks quietly.

Lucas looks at him with this _pleading_ , this desperation. Eliott knows this look. Lucas is screaming, _please don't make me say it._

He takes a deep breath, his eyes drifting down to his feet. Feebly, he replies, "It reminds me of you."

The twinge is sharper, the tug pulls harder. "What do you mean, Lucas? You're scaring me."

"Eliott, please," Lucas begs, closing his eyes. He pauses for a moment, breathing slowly. He looks up again, and when he opens his eyes, Eliott swears they've lost some of their blue. Then, Lucas asks shakily, "Can we just talk somewhere? Down by where the grass ends?"

Eliott nods, biting his lip. "Okay."

Lucas lets go of Eliott's hands, looking up at him with _pity_. Eliott feels like he could explode, shatter into jagged shards of sea glass. 

They walk, a little ways past their houses. They don't talk, and the silence is cacophony rattling in Eliott's mind. He feels darkness, doubt, hover just above his skin. It tingles, it _burns_. He takes a deep breath, looking over at Lucas. He's looking out at the water, his brow furrowed, frowning. His eyes are dry, his breaths aren't shaking anymore. But somehow, Eliott notices, he looks sadder than he ever has before.

"Lucas?" Eliott tries, gently, patiently. He takes the small grain of hope lying within his heart and tries to nurse it into a small, gentle flame.

_He loves me, he loves me, he loves me_

"So, you're home now?" Lucas asks, turning to him but avoiding eye contact. 

"The doctors said I was stable," Eliott answers, trying to keep the fear from edging into his voice. "So, they said I could go home. Live a normal life again. Be with everyone I love... Be with you."

Lucas exhales slowly, methodically. He starts wringing his hands. They're shaking. Eliott takes his hands again. Lucas finally looks back at him, his eyes darker, lackluster.

"I love you, Lucas," Eliott says, moving his hands to cradle Lucas's face. "I _love_ you."

Lucas closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against Eliott's. Eliott closes his eyes, too, and gathers every ounce of courage he has. He feels his hope spark. He kisses Lucas, but their lips barely brush against each other before Lucas yanks himself away. Eliott swears he hears a sob rip out of Lucas's throat. His eyes fly open, and he sees Lucas backing away from him, hugging himself. There are tears running down his cheeks.

Eliott walks over to him cautiously, wanting to cry himself. He needs to be strong for Lucas. " _Ça va, mon amour_?" Eliott asks carefully.

"Don't call me that," Lucas begs, strained, tired. 

Eliott feels the color drain from his face, feels the wind being knocked out of him. Hope begins to die in his chest.

 _He still loves me, he still loves me, he still loves me, he_ has _to love me still_

"Why not?" he chokes out.

Lucas shakes his head. After a moment, he looks Eliott in the eye. His eyes are shining, hopeless. 

"I'm engaged, Eliott."

Eliott's heart nearly stops.

_I need him to love me, I need him to love me, I need him to love me!_

"To whom?" Eliott asks, his voice strangled.

"Chloé," Lucas answers. "Chloé Jeanson."

"That girl in the year below us?" Eliott asks, his heart racing now.

Lucas nods. He takes a deep breath before he continues. "We're getting married in December."

"When..." Eliott starts, his voice dying in his throat. "When did you start dating?"

"About a year ago," Lucas replies, his voice thin, hollow.

"And when did you propose to her?" 

Lucas bites his lip. "Yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Eliott repeats. He feels tears running down his face.

"I love her, Eliott," Lucas justifies, stumbling through his words, his tears. "And she loves me. I didn't mean for this to happen, it just did."

"But you told me you can't fall in love with girls," Eliott cries, so desperate he can't control his tongue. He rambles, pleads through every hiccuping sob. "Remember? You told me that when we were sitting in my bedroom. And then I told you I felt like I could fall in love with anyone, but my heart chose you. And then _you_ kissed _me_. Please tell me you remember that. Because I can't stop thinking about it. You kissed me and then I kissed you back and we kissed and we kissed and I'd never been so _happy_. We spent that whole spring, that whole summer kissing each other and every day I loved you more than I ever thought I could. I told you over and over again how much I loved you and you told me over and over again that you loved me, too. Was that a _lie_ , Lucas? Have you been _lying_ to me this whole time?"

"I was a _boy_ , Eliott," Lucas bites back, _anger_ twisting his features. " _You_ were a boy. We didn't know anything about love. We didn't know _anything_! When I met Chloé, I _knew_! I _know_! I look into her eyes and suddenly, everything makes sense again."

Eliott chokes back a sob. "You used to say that about me, too."

"Things change, Eliott," Lucas replies, cold. "I fell in love. And we can't choose who we love."

"So, you just moved on?" Eliott asks, becoming angry. "I was in _misery_ in Paris. I was on all these different medications. Every time it started getting worse they gave me electric shocks until I couldn't _feel_ anything anymore. The only thing that kept me sane, kept me _alive_ , in that institution was you. Your letters. The picture of you I kept in my room. And you're telling me that that whole time you had moved on? You were carrying on with some girl? You wrote me letters calling me the love of your life, the only good thing that's ever happened to you, but you were in love with Chloé and not me anymore? I _loved_ you, Lucas, all that time, and I never stopped. I _still_ love you—"

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have tried to kill yourself!" Lucas shouts, his voice echoing off the air, the water, the sky. It almost seems to echo.

Eliott can't breathe. He can't feel his arms, his legs. He shakes his head, his body wracked with sobs. "Lucas, I was _sick_ , you know that."

"You could've talked to me that night, Eliott," Lucas replies, just as tearful. "You could've _talked to me_ , instead of leaving a letter at my window sill and expecting me to find it by the time it was too late. You left me with the _unbearable_ thought that you'd saved me from almost the same fate you were subjecting yourself to, but _I_ wasn't gonna be able to save _you_."

Eliott presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, pushing away the memories. "Stop, please," he _begs_.

"I couldn't stop _thinking_ , Eliott. In my head, I pull your body out of the water. And you're dead. Drowned. I do _everything_ I possibly can to save you, but it doesn't work. You're gone. Forever. Your eyes are closed, and they'll never open again. I'll never see your eyes again. Your heart lies silent and still in your chest and it'll never beat again and it'll never love anything again. You're not breathing and you'll never breathe again and you won't talk or laugh or sing again. I was too late. I scream and I cry and your mother comes and she sees that you're dead and she's inconsolable. She lost her husband and her son within weeks of each other. We bury you next to him, and we live the rest of our lives without you. But what kind of life is that? How could we ever live without you? How could you take yourself away from us like that? How could you be so _selfish_? How could you _do_ something like that? You've left me alone. You've left me with nothing but guilt. I'm left to relive everything. _Every waking moment_ I'll remember you asking me what dying feels like and I'll regret ever answering you. I'll regret it forever."

"Lucas—" Eliott starts, barely audible. He crumbles to his knees, his world spinning around him.

"But you were standing on the shore, looking out on the water," Lucas continues. He's crying again. "You were _alive_. I wasn't too late. I called your name and I didn't recognize my own voice. But you didn't hear me. You started walking forward, and suddenly I was losing you. You were slipping through my fingers like sand and I've never been more afraid in my life. I started running again, and I yelled your name as loud as I could. You turned around. And I wasn't relieved. I was _angry_. And I've _been_ angry ever since and I'm _sick_ of being _angry_!"

The world falls silent. The waves don't sigh against the shore, the wind doesn't whisper its secrets, and the moon hides herself in the blue, and she's run out of words of comfort.

"I gave you _my life_ , Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine."

"No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."

Eliott pulls his hands away from his eyes, sunspots crawling across his vision. He can't see Lucas's face, but he can _feel_ the anger radiating off of him. "Lucas, please, if you would let me explain..."

"I can't do that," Lucas chokes out.

"Lucas—" Eliott begins, his voice breaking along with his heart.

"Everything has changed, Eliott. _We've_ changed. I wasn't too late then, but it's too late now. _You're_ too late."

" _Please_ ,"

Lucas pauses. Eliott hears him choke back a sob. "I'm sorry, Eliott."

He hears Lucas walking away, hears the sand shifting beneath his feet. He hears him sniffle, sigh. He hears his worst fear, his worst nightmare, laughing at him from the back of his mind. He hears a voice, deep within his heart wail,

_He hates me, he hates me, he hates me_

* * *

_june 21st, 1968_

_9:43_

_caen, france_

~

Somehow, Eliott finds the strength to rise to his feet and walk back home. He follows Lucas's footprints, like they used to when they were kids. Eliott usually led the way, taking the longest strides possible with his longer legs. Lucas struggled to keep up, often having to hop to the next footprint. Lucas would complain the whole way to their houses, ask why Eliott always had to lead the way. He would wish his legs were longer, so he could follow him easier, run faster than him. Eliott would laugh at him, tell him that maybe someday he would be as tall as he was, have legs as long as his. In Eliott's eyes, it was an innocent game, playful. In Lucas's, it was frustrating and unfair. Yet, they played it every day after playing at the beach, in the water. Because Eliott wanted to play it, and Lucas was always right behind him, nipping at his heels. Somehow, for all those years, Lucas had found the strength to keep walking.

Lucas has gotten taller, though not as tall as Eliott did. His feet are bigger, too. His strides are longer, _angry_. His feet barely had time to make impressions in the sand, and his footprints quickly disappear when the sand is overtaken by grass. Eliott's footprints are clearer, deeper from the sand threatening to pull him under and bury him, consume him. Somehow, despite the earth's pleading, Eliott found the strength to keep on walking.

He resists the urge to look over at Lucas's house, ignores the hope that he may see him through one of the windows. Lucas hates him, and he isn't sure he can handle seeing that hatred in his face, in his eyes. Lucas is engaged to someone else, and Eliott isn't sure he can handle seeing him kiss her, love her like he used to kiss and love him. The Lucas he just talked to isn't the same Lucas he grew up with, loved. But he also knows he isn't the same Eliott he was when they were kids. He's not the same Eliott Lucas grew up with, loved. Neither of them are the same. He should've known that from the moment he knew he would see Lucas again. He should've known that two years is a long time to be away from someone, especially considering the circumstances of why Eliott had to leave. Lucas has every right to be angry, but Eliott wishes with everything in him that he won't be anymore.

He makes it to his front door, taking a deep breath, another. He hasn't been inside his childhood home in two years. He would've been nervous, anxious, but he's too exhausted from his argument with Lucas to feel _anything_. So he breathes, and he opens the door.

"I was wondering where you were, dear," his mother calls. "How was reuniting with Lucas?"

Eliott doesn't answer. He drinks in his family's old living room. The once weathered, muted yellow walls were now a pure white, the rich, darkly stained wood floor were now pale and matte. The old, threadbare, paisley rug had been replaced by a plush, sky blue one. The couch his mother was sitting and reading a newspaper on was plush, too, a steely gray with wooden legs. The house looked _new_ , cold, wide and gaping. Eliott feels like if he spoke, his words would echo for hours, miles. Was this really the house he grew up in? He doesn't recognize it...

"Eliott?" his mother repeats, putting down her newspaper.

He blinks. "Sorry, Maman. What did you say?"

"How was reuniting with Lucas?" she asks again.

He fakes a smile. "Good. I've missed him a lot."

"I'm so glad, honey," she smiles, genuine. "And do you like the new house?"

He nods, tells another lie. "Yeah, I do."

"I'll tell you, though," she begins, getting up from the couch. "I didn't touch your room, besides for some dusting and cleaning. Do you wanna see it?"

His smile falters, only to widen again, but genuinely this time. "Okay. Yeah."

He follows his mother upstairs, the stairs not creaking like they used to. The door to his room is closed, and his mother stands beside it excitedly, her hand on the doorknob. He can't help but smile.

"I remember what my room looks like, Maman," he laughs. "Why is it a surprise?"

"There's a _few_ surprises in there," she replies, winking. "Ready, dear?"

He nods. "Ready."

She opens the door, and steps aside so he can walk in. He steps inside cautiously, but he was right. His walls are still a pale blue, his floor still dark, shiny wood planks. His bookshelf still standing tall in the corner of the room, all his pictures still framed and sitting on top of his dresser. The same sheets are on his bed, all made up. But there was a cardboard box on his bed. He grins, walking over and picking it up. It was heavy.

"Is this one of my surprises?" he asks, shaking it lightly.

"They're all in that box," she replies, nodding. "This _is_ your birthday present, by the way."

He looks up, chuckling. "Is it?"

"No, not really," she concedes. "I _do_ have birthday presents for you, but _these_ are welcome home presents."

He shakes it again, holding it close to his ear. "Can I open it?"

"Of course, honey," his mother says, grinning.

He sits down on his bed, opening the box carefully. On top was a book, old and yellowed.

" _The Waves_?" he reads aloud, pulling the book out to study out. "Virginia Woolf?"

"It was one of my favorite books when I was your age," his mother tells him, sitting next to him. "That's actually my copy of it."

"Oh, Maman," he replies, suddenly feeling guilty. "You don't have to give me one of your books."

"It's a gift, honey," she reassures him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, I think you need it more than I do. I think it'll help you."

"Thank you, Maman," he smiles, giving her another hug.

"No, go through the rest of the box!" she laughs. "You can hug me when you've seen all of them."

"All right, all right," Eliott gives in, putting the book down and looking back in the box. He sees thick, tawny fabric. It looks familiar. He pulls it out of the box, and tears brim in his eyes again.

"This is Papa's old coat," he says, in awe.

"I know it's still summer, but once it gets cold, I thought you'd like to wear it," his mother says. "Your father loved this old coat. He rarely took it off while it still fit him. Remember?"

Eliott nods. "I remember."

"Put it on," she urges. "I wanna see you wearing it for a bit."

Eliott gladly takes off his old, too-small coat and puts on his father's. It's a little big for him, but it's warm and it smells like his father's cologne. He pulls it tight around his body, letting it envelop him. "I love it," he says, closing his eyes. "I love it, Maman."

"He loved it, too," his mother replies. There are tears in her eyes as she watches Eliott. She blinks, and she's suddenly out of her reverie. She points at the box, smiling. "Oh, there's one more surprise in the box, Eliott. Lucas's mother helped me with it."

His heart sinks at the mention of Lucas's name, but he looks down at the box anyway.

It's a framed picture of a drawing he remembers making as clear as day. It's a self portrait, where his hair is a little lighter, and he's wearing a blue shirt and gray pants. He drew birds in the sky, the beach and the water and his house in the background. At the left edge of the paper, his five-year-old handwriting scrawled out a half-written message.

_Be_

_Fri_

_For_

Lucas had the other half, with his own self-portrait and his handwriting finishing the message.

_Best friends forever_

"Lucas's mother found this in their house, and she gave it to me and we got them framed. Lucas should be getting his half today, too. Remember the day you made these? The day I had to go to the hospital with Papa in Paris?"

He isn't listening to her. He studies his picture, remembers Lucas's, and it hits him all over again that everything has changed, that everything has been ruined. His tears come back, more bitter, and they refuse to be held back. 

"Eliott, honey, are you okay?" his mother asks, suddenly worried.

"Yeah," he lies, leaving the picture sitting in his lap and wiping away his tears. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" she presses, putting her hand on his shoulder again.

He tries to take a deep, calming breath, but he can feel himself _breaking_. He shakes his head, choking out a sob. "He hates me, Maman. He's so _angry_ with me."

"Ellie," she starts, her hand moving to cradle his face. 

"He hates me because I tried to kill myself," he sobs. "And he's engaged now and he's moved on without me and we're not best friends anymore."

"Honey, you don't know that," she tries to tell him, but his emotions only surge. 

"I do, Maman! He told me! I've already almost lost him once and now I've _lost_ him. He'll never talk to me again and he'll get married and have kids and be happy and he'll forget about me."

"Eliott—"

"I _love_ him, Maman! I love him and he hates me now! How can I live without him? How can I live without my best friend? How can I live without the love of my life?"

He looks down at the picture in his hands, and he's _angry_. Angry at Lucas, angry at himself, angry at his mind, angry at his parents, angry at the world. He screams, throwing the picture down on the floor. It shatters into a million pieces, leaving the picture exposed. He hears his mother calling his name, but he ignores her. He snatches the picture, ripping it in half, in fourths, in eights.

"Eliott, please!" his mother yells, grabbing hold of his hands.

He stops, his heart missing a beat and his breath hitching in his throat. He looks down at the paper shreds in his hands, the glass on the floor.

He's out of control again. He's lost it again.

He bursts into tears, his chest tightening, exploding. He falls into his mother's arms, wailing into her shoulder. She holds him close, kissing his hair and comforting him in soft, caring whispers. 

He's falling apart all over again. He thought he was stable, he thought was gonna be okay, he thought everything would be normal.

How could he have ever been so wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here!! im so, so excited for this fic and i hope y'all are too! i know this first chapter was a bit of a ride, but if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or kudos if you like! unfortunately, updates probably won't be super regular since im so busy with school and work, but i'll try my best to write the best chapters for you guys as quickly as i can. thank you SO much for reading and i hope you have an amazing day/night/week!!


	3. 02—happy birthday, eliott!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott eats breakfast with his mother for the first time since he was institutionalized / Eliott visits his father's grave / Eliott remembers a birthday present from Lucas / Eliott's mother and his friends throw him a surprise party for his birthday / Eliott's mother asks him a difficult question / Eliott can't sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of minor character death, mentions and brief descriptions of electroconvulsive therapy

_june 22nd, 1968_

_11:01_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wakes up the next morning with a headache and a hollow chest. Memories from the day before reenter his mind slowly, as if the pain had fallen asleep and was waking up with him. He'd cried for hours, and his mother held him until his tears ran dry. Eliott was left with that exhausted, gutted-out feeling. He'd spent all his energy _mourning_. Mourning the loss of Lucas, his father, the town and the world he once knew, _everything_ he once knew. Even when his eyes had become dry, he still had so much _mourning_ inside of him, but it had lost all of its escape routes. It hid inside him, tucked itself away in the marrow of his bones, the back of his skull, the tips of his fingers and toes. It disguised itself and traveled within his blood, coursing through him until it had touched every part of him. And as Eliott stares up at his ceiling, hours and hours later, he realizes far too quickly that it still hasn't run its course.

The waking pain yawns, almost swallowing him whole. He wonders if this could send him into some pit, some black hole that he's visited once before. He wonders if it could send him back to that awful, awful place he swears lies nowhere on the earth's gentle, scarred surface. The waking pain stretches, and Eliott _feels_ it wearing on his soul. He _feels_ it pulling, tugging, and he _feels_ his soul trembling and moaning and wailing. It calls for his father, his mother, Lucas, _anyone_. _Anyone_ who can take the waking pain away, put it back to sleep before its cold, dark eyes fully open, before it bares its claws and roars rumble from its throat.

But Papa is dead. Maman loves him, but she doesn't understand what he's going through. Lucas hates him, and he won't understand what he's been through. And there's no one else who can heal him like Papa, Maman, and Lucas could. The moment Eliott started getting sick, he lost any sort of love and care anyone could give him. Every time Papa clapped his hand on his shoulder and smiled at him, every time Maman kissed his forehead and brushed his hair out of his eyes, every time Lucas kissed him until he was dizzy and touched him until he melted, it was _useless_ , a waste of time, energy, love. And he kept demanding _more_ , draining them until they ran dry. He was never satisfied, not truly. It was like a thunderstorm. It soaked him, wetting his hair and chilling his bones and skin. It was cold, shocking him into living, but not quite into thriving. But the clouds would stop crying, lose their voices, and the droplets resting on his skin would dry, die, fade away. 

Was he selfish? _Is_ he selfish?

And where is the healing his mother talked about? He can't feel it holding his hand. He can't feel it guiding him through the hurt. Has the healing abandoned him? Has it grown so tired from Eliott's mind turning against him over and over and over and over again that it's given up on him? Can the healing only reach certain people? Does the healing abandon those who are beyond saving? Has it abandoned him already?

His thoughts, his spiral, are cut off by the shrill whistle of a kettle. It startles him a bit, but the thought of his mother making tea made everything just a little brighter, like the flame of a candle. He exhales slowly, telling his mind to slow down, to quiet. _Just for a moment_ , he reasons with it. _Please._

He sits up, his body suddenly feeling weightless, thin and translucent like smoke. He takes another deep breath, letting the air fill him as much as it could. 

_Breathe,_ a thousand voices tell him. His parents, Lucas, his doctors, himself. _Breathe. It will pass._

He climbs out of his bed, his feet meeting fabric when they touch the floor. He looks down and sees his father's coat lying in a pile on the floor. He doesn't remember taking it off. He picks it up and shrugs it on, the fabric still warm and smooth. It's heavy, too, weighing on his shoulders, his back. Another deep breath: in, then out.

He walks across his room to his door, opening it slowly so it doesn't creak. The kettle is louder now, and he hears pots and pans clanging against each other. He'll eat a meal with his mother again for the first time in two years. They'll sit at the dining table, and Maman will set it, laying down the placemats she sewed and embroidered herself before he was born. She'll set Papa's place, too, and tears will fill her eyes and her lips will wobble into a frown, but she'll take a deep breath and make herself smile. The room will be laced with a sudden, subtle chill, as if Papa was there with them, cold and silent and looming. He'll feel sick to his stomach, but he forces the nausea down. His mother will say grace, and thank God for their home, their family, their health, the food that they are about to eat. He'll listen, his eyes closed, but hear his father's voice in the back of his mind. Papa used to say grace at every meal. But then Papa died on a bright, clear, spring morning. The sun had risen early that day, and he wonders if Papa saw it before his lungs shriveled up and his eyes glazed over. There was never a day more beautiful, and there was never a day more terrible. His mother will say at least one time today how he looks just like Papa. She'll sound tired, but soft; sad, but fond. He'll smile and say that he knows, and he'll wish Lucas's parallel universes were real and that he could reach out and touch one, live in one, even if just for a day. One where everything is normal again. One where he isn't sick. One where his father is still alive and laughing. One where his mother smiles widely and sings everywhere she goes. One where Lucas doesn't hate him. One where maybe he loves him. And this will happen—this wishing, this longing—every single day, for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, he walks down the stairs that don't creak anymore. He takes a step closer to a new normalcy, stagnancy.

He pauses at the last stair, silencing memories of his mother singing from the kitchen, listening. But all he hears is something sizzling, something being poured. He hears his mother sigh, long and tired and weary. He feels a pang of guilt, and he's too exhausted to fight it—a new normalcy, stagnancy. He descends the last stair, approaching the kitchen silently. The dining table is already set with three placemats: his, his mother's, and his father's. There are teacups beside each one, steam curling from their edges. His mother is standing over the stove, scrambling eggs. She's dressed, her hair pulled back in a bun, her apron tied round her waist. Gray hangs beneath her eyes, and fatigue pulls down on the corners of her mouth. He feels the pang again, stronger, deeper. Had she been up all night worrying about him? Was she disappointed because her son was supposed to come back normal, the same, happy boy she loved so much, but he came back just as damaged as he was before? 

"Oh, hi, honey," she greets, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Did you sleep well? Do you feel any better?"

There's a softness, a genuineness in her voice. She puts down her spatula, wipes her hands on her apron, and walks towards him. She gives him all of her attention. She listens to his every word, is watchful of his every move, every shift in his face. She loves him.

But he doesn't know how to answer her. He shrugs. "I feel... Drained."

She frowns, pushing his hair back from his eyes. "I'm sorry, dear."

Eliott sighs. She doesn't know what to say, and he doesn't either. "It's okay, Maman," he mumbles. "I'll be okay. I'll get better."

_I'll be okay. I'll get better._

She smiles, then, and softly envelops him in her arms. He feels her heart beating against his, feels her inhale slowly, feels her tighten her grip on him. He closes his eyes, feeling a little closer to his old life, even if only by a step.

"I love you so much, my boy," she says. "I want you to get better."

"I will, Maman," he promises her, his voice firmer, stronger than it has been before. "I will. I love you, too."

The smell of smoke shatters the moment, pulls them apart.

"The eggs!" his mother groans, rushing over to the skillet. She stirs them furiously, the smoke thickening.

Eliott stifles a chuckle, walking over to her. "Are they okay?"

He looks inside, and the eggs are much darker than he's sure his mother wanted them to be. They're not _burnt_ , but they'll definitely be tough when they eat them.

"They've been better," his mother sighs, turning down the heat. 

"I think they'll still taste good, Maman," Eliott replies, still trying to hold back his laughter.

"I hope so," she laughs, too. "Are you ready to eat, dear?"

Eliott isn't all that hungry, but he smiles and nods. The small breaths of laughter leave his lungs, and he's left with dread filling his stomach. He so _desperately hates_ how much he _needs_ everything to be normal again.

 _They never will be,_ he reminds himself. _Never again._ _Move on. I'll be okay. I'll get better._

He fills his plate with as much food as he thinks he can stomach, setting it down at his place on the table. He always sat to the left of his father, who sat at the head of the table. His mother sat to his father's right. Her and Eliott always looked at him as he talked about his day, as he asked about theirs. Eliott's mother always told him how his father was never quite the same after he came home from the war, but Eliott always thought his father was the best man in the world. He was kind, caring, and he always listened. Eliott always wanted to be just like him when he was growing up. He was his hero. Now he's just an empty chair, an empty placemat, a chill in the air.

He stares at his father's place, his fork cold in his hand. He bites his lip, wills his mind to stop thinking.

"How did you stand it, Maman?" he blurts out, the question lingering dark and thin in the air between them. "Eating at our table, alone?"

His mother looks up at him, her eyes shining with tears. But she smiles, shrugs. "I had a lot of people over for dinner. The Lallemants, the Broussards, the Savarys, the Cazases. Anyone who needed a nice, home-cooked meal. And when I didn't have anyone over, I would eat, and remind myself that both of you were still with me. You were a train ride away in Paris, and I knew I would see you again soon. And your father has always lived in my heart, dear. He still does. And he lives in yours, too. I would try to remember that we were all still together, in a way."

"In some other universe," Eliott mutters, Lucas's voice lingering in the back of his mind.

His mother smiles. "I thought you didn't believe in that."

"Not in the way Lucas does," Eliott replies, Lucas's name bitter on his tongue.

Her smile falters. She puts her fork down, reaching her hand across the table and taking Eliott's. "Maybe he just needs time, dear."

"He's had two years, Maman," he sighs, every emotion he felt yesterday beginning to flood back. "Two years to remember everything I did to him. Two years to try and forget about me because I'm not the Eliott he knew anymore. He knows that. _I_ know that. He's had nothing but time to make up his mind about me. And you know him. He doesn't change his mind very often. He's angry at me, he hates me, and I'm beginning to think he always will."

She doesn't reply at first. And when she does, it's quiet, pitiful, "Eliott..."

"Can we not talk about him, Maman?" Eliott pleads. "It... It hurts too much."

"Okay," she agrees, squeezing his hand.

But Eliott is still thinking about him. His handsome, still familiar face twisting in anger, his silvery voice splintering and shattering, the oceans in his eyes spilling over onto his cheeks. The picture of agony, of devastation. And _Eliott_ did that to him.

"He's my best friend," he whispers, his voice not strong enough to declare it.

"Eliott, honey," she sighs, sympathetic.

"We were gonna be best friends forever," he continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. "But I..."

His mother rises from her seat and hurries over to him, wrapping him in her arms. She holds him tight, kisses his hair, his forehead. "Tell me how to take the pain away, dear," she whispers, her voice thin with tears.

His answer is quiet, hopeless: "I don't know, Maman."

* * *

_june 24th, 1968_

_16:00_

_caen, france_

~

The next couple of days are long, but they blur together, like an ink smudge, or the trees through the window when you're riding in the car. Eliott feels numb. He sleeps to escape the pain of being awake. He takes small bites of food. He watches the television and lets the noise lull him into another world, one he can get lost in, one where he can remember and the memories are softer, brighter. Sometimes he sits outside and tries to count the stars. Sometimes he listens for the moon's song, wonders if she's the only thing that can help him now. But she's silent, still. He misses the moon's songs. He misses his mother's songs, too. He misses everything.

Today, he decides he's going to visit his father's grave. He asked if his mother if she wanted to come with him during lunch, and she smiled sadly and said yes. But a little later, she said, too. Eliott agreed.

They're sitting in the car now, driving into town. Eliott isn't sure what he's feeling. He hasn't been to the cemetery in almost two years. He didn't go there much, even before he had to go to the institution. The scars were still too fresh. The thought of his father being dead still hadn't sunk in fully. And, if he's honest with himself, it still hasn't. Whenever his mother wrote to him and told him she was gonna go up and visit him, he had a hope in the back of his mind that his father was coming, too, to surprise him. But, of course, he never did.

They pass Saint-Saveur, with its tall, pockmarked exterior and all its memories. The bells begin to peal, warm and brassy, echoing throughout the city. Eliott tries to push away memories of the funeral service they held within its walls. How his mother held onto him in her grief, and how as soon as she found someone else to lean on, he fell, exhausted, bereaved, into Lucas's arms. And Lucas held him, patiently, gently. He looks away from the church and across the street at the little shops and houses. The town carries on, long after the bombs have detonated, long after the ashes and dust have settled, and not long after the best man to ever live on this earth was violently ripped from it far too soon. Then, his mother turns a corner, and the church is just a trembling image in the rearview mirror. 

Eliott closes his eyes, focusing on the music on the radio. He waits for the music to cut off into silence, waits for the car to turn off, waits for his mother's heavy, weary sigh. He waits.

The waiting ends a little too quickly for his taste. 

He opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is the sea of headstones. The grass around them is a rich green, but the overcast sky colors them even darker. Everything is in grayscale, almost. He can't quite remember exactly where his father's grave is. He remembers it being further back, closer to the trees. He remembers it being up to his right. Hopefully his mother knows where he is.

Eliott hears his mother's seatbelt unbuckle, and his heart nearly drops to his stomach. He takes a deep breath.

"Ready, dear?" his mother asks him gently, carefully.

He lets his body take over, guide him. He unbuckles, too, nodding. "I'm ready."

"Don't forget his flowers," she reminds him.

He shakes his head weakly. They're sitting in his lap. "I won't, Maman."

They get out of the car, their feet meeting cracked pavement, and they take each other's hands. They walk.

The world around them is eerily quiet. Despite the humidity clinging to everything it can touch, cool breezes break through it, sweeping over the land. _Papa really is here,_ Eliott thinks to himself. He tries not to think about how the ground he's walking on is full of caskets holding bones, the decaying, the newly dead. He tries not to think about how, somewhere here, his father is lying, sleeping, for eternity. He tries not to think about when they buried him— _dust to dust, ashes to ashes; he was a good man; you poor boy, having to grow up without your father; what a pity; what a shame_ —and the flowers he held then, the flowers he's holding now. He tries not to think. After all, it's all he's done the past two years. Try and fail to turn his mind off, try and fail to soothe it, try and fail to coax it, lead it down a different path. He's surprised he still has the strength to _try_ , knowing that all he's ever done is fail.

His mother squeezes his hands, and he comes back down to earth.

"We're almost there," she tells him, her voice soothing.

They nearly reach the corner of the cemetery when his mother stops, letting out a shaky breath.

Eliott looks down, and he sees his father's grave. Tears almost immediately fill his eyes. It's worn now, faded. Battered and weathered. Has it really been that long since his father passed away? He studies the writing.

_Eduard Demaury_

_décembre 2, 1923-mai 29, 1966_

_Un vaillant soldat, un mari dévoué et un père aimant_

He squeezes his mother's hand so hard he's afraid he's hurting her. He mutters an apology, his voice strangled through his tears. His feels his chest splitting open, his throat getting sore from holding back his sobs. He lets go of his mother's hand, using it to wipe the tears that were flowing down his cheeks in rapids. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to gather himself again.

 _Breathe,_ the thousand voices tell him again. His father's is the loudest. It's how he's always remembered it. It's kind. It's patient. It's soothing, cooling, like a balm. It's _healing_. It's been two years since he heard his father's voice, but he'll never hear it again within the walls of their house, or in the salty air crashing up from the waves. His voice will only live within the confines of his mind. It's stuck in a maze. A maze of memories, of emotions, of impulses and despairings, and yet it navigates it in the moments Eliott needs it most, and it's _there_. It's _here_!

Eliott begins to cry harder, his breaths coming out in short hiccups. He misses his father, but he's _here_! He's _here_ , speaking to him! He tries to breathe more slowly, deeply, remind himself that he's _here_!

 _Breathe,_ his father's voice says again. Eliott's heart _swells_.

"Do we need to leave, dear?" his mother asks, her voice kind but anxious.

Eliott takes another deep breath, then shakes his head. "I just miss him."

He feels his mother drape her arm across his shoulders, pulling him close. She doesn't say anything. She kisses his temple and ruffles his hair. She lets him cry.

He keeps hearing his father's voice in his mind. Somehow, it dries his eyes. Somehow, the chill dissipates, the wind quiets, _his mind_ quiets.

He lets the last of his tears roll slowly down his cheeks, lets the last of the breaths lodged in his throat escape violently, sweetly.

Then there's a calm.

"I miss him, too," his mother finally says, squeezing him tighter. "But you and I are together again. And he's watching over us. I know it."

Eliott nods. "I know it, too."

"Do you want to put the flowers down?" his mother asks, the anxiety disappearing from her voice.

Eliott nods again, stepping closer to the headstone. He places the flowers down carefully, their petals of rich red, brilliant blue, and pure white brightening the whole world around them. Eliott _smiles_.

"I'm home now, Papa," he says, his voice bright and clear. "I love you. Thank you."

Eliott and his mother linger for a moment, holding each other. The clouds darken above them, but Eliott feels nothing but _light_.

* * *

_june 26th, 1967_

_13:30_

_paris, france_

~

 _Yesterday was Eliott's first (and hopefully last) birthday at the institution, and h_ _e hasn't heard a word from Lucas. He asked his mother when she visited if she knew of Lucas mentioning anything about his birthday, and his heart sank slowly when she said she didn't know. She talked him through every irrational thought that crossed his mind and escaped through his tongue. They grew up together, they're best friends, how could Lucas ever forget Eliott's birthday? If Lucas sent him a letter, it's probably just late going through the mail. Today's still his birthday. If he gets something tomorrow, it would only be a day late. Lucas has time, and so does Eliott. Then, she tried to take his mind off of it by giving him his presents. A new shirt, soft and white and warm. A dozen of his favorite cookies that she made herself. A book, or a play, really:_ Waiting for Gadot _, by Samuel Beckett. A pair of socks that were navy blue and warm. It worked, for a moment._

_Today, he's wearing his new shirt and his new socks, and he's already finished reading the play. The cookies are lying on his bedside table, completely untouched (they would stay this way for another day or two, and Eliott would feel the weight of years and years of guilt for it). Today, his mother isn't there to talk him through his doubts. Today, he still hasn't heard from Lucas. Today, he's afraid he'll spiral downward again, because then the doctors will use the more extreme treatments to fix him. He wishes he could say they don't work, the electric shocks, but they do. They don't make him feel better, they just make him feel nothing. And, for the doctors, that means he isn't depressed anymore. Today, he sits on his bed and studies the picture of Lucas he keeps in his room, hoping it'll give him the strength he needs to get better, to avoid another excruciating round of the shocks._

_Today, one of the nurses knocks on his door then slides a letter underneath it._

_Eliott jumps up from his bed, picking up the letter with fumbling fingers. His eyes fill with tears the moment he sees his name written in Lucas's handwriting. He tears the envelope open, unfolding the paper inside. His heart is racing in his chest, his lips are spreading into an aching grin, and his tears are escaping. He never knew he could miss Lucas's jagged cursive so much. He reads it, drinking in every word as if it were life-giving water._

My dearest Eliott,

My love, I pray night and day that you won't have to be in Paris a mere moment longer than you need to. I pray that you'll be in my arms the very second I'm there to open them up to you. My prayers bleed into my dreams, where our reunion is woven with gold and the sound of the waves and moonsong. And my dreams leak into my every waking moment, Eliott. Not a moment goes by where I'm not missing you, thinking of you, dreaming of you. My heart absolutely aches that I can't see you today, darling. I can only imagine what you're feeling. I pray you're not hurting. I pray that if you are, that my words will be of even the slightest bit of healing, of medicine. If only I could heal you. If only my love was enough to do so. I was born to love you, Eliott. I know it. There are moments, hours, days, where that's the only thing I truly know.

My heart beats faster, harder, stronger because it's reaching for you, darling. Is your heart reaching for me? I think I feel it. It comes to me at night, through the stars. It burns behind my eyelids and forces them open. It tilts my chin skyward and I remember you with a new strength, a new fondness. You were the one who first told me about them, the stars, pointed each one out so I could see them. I loved the way your hand moved across the sky. You seemed to cup the galaxy gently in the palm of your hand, cradling it. You seemed to rule it, and it seemed to love you. Who knew billions of burning, little flames could all love something so much they would all surrender to it, mold and stretch at the flick of its hand? I'm not sure if you know that, my love. You must be made of stars.

What are the stars like in Paris? They must be timid, anxious. They're only brave enough to share the smallest shred of their light. Do they still love you? Do you still cradle them as gently as you would cradle a child? Do you give them pieces of your heart and do they promise to deliver them to me? Do they keep their promise? Do millennia of explosions, creation, hold them aloft until they reach the speck of dust that I am? Do they see the things you do to me? Do they see my heart ramming into my rib cage until it's bruised, until it aches? Do they see your eyes when they meet mine, how they soften and brighten like the horizon every time the sun touches it? Do they love me, too?

Neither this pen, my mind, nor my tongue could ever express how much I miss you, _mon amour_. Truly. You were always so much better with words than I was. I know numbers, straight lines, rigid shapes. You know words, curves, fluidity. I always envied you for that. But, whenever I think of you, whenever I look at the stars, my emotions, my love comes flowing out in a rush, in a surge. Unless I let them escape, they froth and broil within me, scorching me, scarring me. Is that how you always feel? Like you're on the verge of exploding, of bursting into rich, blue flames? Like, if your heart isn't stitched to your sleeve it'll shiver, shrivel up in the darkness of your chest? How do you bear it? How do you bear living, darling, when the world around you is so gilded? You see the beauty in every single thing you see. A grain of sand, a blade of grass, the smallest wisp of a cloud. Yet, they all could be a weapon. They could turn on you at any moment. They have. Yet they never lose their beauty in your eyes. How do you manage it? _[Scratched out]._

Please tell me you're well. Or, at least, that you're improving. And if you're not, I'll tell the stars to come to you and stay with you. I'll tell them to never leave your side, not even for a moment. I'll tell them to do anything they can to make you better, to ensure that you'll come back home, come back to me. Tell me if that's what you want, darling. I'll do it. I swear. I love with you everything I am, everything I have been, and everything I ever will be. Happy birthday, darling.

Forever and sincerely yours, Lucas

_Eliott wipes the tears from his face, overjoyed, breathless laughter making his body tremble. He clutches Lucas's letter to his chest, letting his words wash over him over and over like waves of sweet, warm water. He sighs happily, reading over it again._

_He studies the part of the letter that's scratched out for a moment, noticing a few lines of letters through the scratches of ink. He looks at it more closely, wanting to read every single word Lucas wrote to him, scratched out or not. His heart nearly stops once the letters become clear, legible._

You almost couldn't.

* * *

_june 25th, 1968_

_10:00_

_caen, france_

~

"Eliott," his mother's voice coos. "Wake up, honey."

He jolts a bit, his eyes opening slowly. He sees his mother kneeling by his bedside, smiling at him softly. 

"Happy birthday, Eliott!" she grins, tousling his hair. "How are you feeling?"

He smiles back at her tiredly. "Ask me in a few minutes when I'm awake."

"Well, I just got back from the bakery," she tells him, rising to her feet. "And they had plenty of _pain au chocolat_ and baguettes ready to go for us."

Eliott sits up, his attention grabbed. He swears he can already smell, taste the food waiting for him at the dining table. He gets out of bed, hugging his mother tightly. "Thank you, Maman."

"You're welcome, dear," she returns, rubbing his back soothingly. "Ready for breakfast?"

Eliott nods eagerly. "I'm always ready for _pain au chocolat_."

He takes her hand and they walk downstairs. The house is quiet, but light streams carefully through the windows, touching the walls, the floor softly; maybe it's afraid of burning the world it shines upon. The house is warm, thick with the smell of the bread, the pastries. The last few stairs creak beneath their weight, the groan familiar and deep. The house is beginning to feel like it used to feel, before Eliott's world ended. His heart, his fingers and toes, become warm. They tingle. Is this what happiness feels like? He thinks he remembers it feeling like this. He forces back his tears and squeezes his mother's hand.

They reach the bottom of the stairs, and Eliott can just barely see the dining table. His heart leaps even more when it fully comes into his view. There's a basket full of baguettes, the crust golden and shining. Next to it, there's a large plate with _pain au chocolat_ stacked on top of each other, the chocolate half-melted and the pastry just as golden as the baguettes. There's a bowl filled with apples, oranges, bananas. Then, there's two pots of coffee at the center of the table, ribbons of steam curling gracefully and blending with the sunlight. But Eliott's brow furrows.

"This is a lot of food just for the two of us, Maman," he says. "Do you think we can eat all of this?"

His mother smiles slyly, clearly holding back excitement. "It won't just be the two of us, honey."

"What?" he asks, but he's cut off by a chorus of voices.

_"Joyeux anniversaire!"_

Eliott whirls around, nearly jumping out of his skin. But he melts into giggles and joyful tears when he sees Arthur, Basile, Yann, Daphné, Alexia, Imane, Emma, Manon, and Lu—

His face falls, just for a moment, when he realizes Lucas isn't there. _Of course he isn't here_ , he thinks, disappointed. _Why would he be?_

But he smiles again and runs towards his friends, letting them all envelop him in a big, warm, tight hug. He hears them shower him with more "happy birthday"s, and "we missed you"s and "we love you"s. He thinks Basile is crying. He's close to crying himself. He's been so caught up in readjusting to life at home, worrying about his relationship with Lucas, and simply feeling too tired, too despondent to even get out of bed he hasn't had the time nor the energy to reconnect with all his friends. But he didn't need to. He's sure his mother had something to do with this, too, but _they_ reached out to _him_. They surprised him for his birthday. He'll eat breakfast with them and they'll all talk and he'll know what everyone has done, what they're planning on doing. He'll have his friend group back. He'll have his life back.

They all pull away, everyone wiping away happy tears.

"Thank you so much," Eliott says, grinning. "This is gonna be a good birthday."

Everyone grins back at him, and his heart feels full, close to bursting.

"Is everyone ready to eat?" Eliott's mother asks, tearful herself.

Everyone cheers in response, flocking to the dining table. Eliott makes sure he gets in his usual seat. His stomach turns just a little when he sees Basile sit in his father's seat, but he pushes it aside. Basile doesn't know that that's Papa's chair. But he notices his mother looks uneasy about it, too. 

"Are you okay, Eliott?" Basile asks suddenly. He must've noticed Eliott's unease.

Eliott blinks, smiles. "Yeah, sorry."

"Oh, okay," Basile replies, relieved. "We've really missed you, you know. When Lucas told us you were home, we—"

"Wait, Lucas told you?" Eliott asks, his heart, his chest tightening. 

"Yeah," Basile nods, as if it were obvious. "He said you'd just come by your house and you two talked for a bit. He's really sorry he couldn't come, by the way. He wanted us to tell you. He said he had something to do with Chloé today. Did he tell you they're engaged?"

Eliott sighs, but nods. "Yeah, he did. I sort of remember her from school. I'm happy for them."

"They're a good match," Basile agrees. "He was devastated after you had to leave. Then he started dating Chloé and he was smiling again. You can tell he really loves her."

His every word was a lash, a strike for Eliott. He tries to keep himself together, tries to keep his voice from shaking. "I'm glad. He's been through so much."

"We need to find you a nice girl, Eliott," Basile says, punching him playfully on the shoulder. "Get a smile back on your face."

Eliott forces a chuckle. "I've been smiling all morning, haven't I?"

"Yes, but your maman told us that you've been really sad lately," Basile replies. "She told us this would make you really happy. And it worked! You just need a nice, pretty girl who can keep that smile on your face."

Eliott smiles, but he feels his lips wobble. 

Basile smiles, too, his eyes shining like they always do, and Eliott feels a deep twinge in his chest. He smiles back, making it wider, trying to make it more genuine.

"Okay," Eliott's mother announces. "The last piece of our breakfast is ready."

She pulls something out of the oven, a _tarte aux fruits_ that draws an awed gasp from their guests. She somehow finds room for it on the table, grinning proudly. "Shall we sing?" 

They all shout their agreements, beginning to clap and sing.

_Joyeux anniversaire, joyeux anniversaire!_

_Joyeux anniversaire, Eliott!_

_Joyeux anniversaire!_

Eliott thanks them all, trying to hide all the hurt sitting in his chest. He starts taking a little bit of food, the others filling up their plates once he's done. He tries to eat as much as he can, tries to listen to everyone that's talking to him and tries to respond to them. He tries to smile and laugh. He tries. He really, really does. And as he watches his friends smile and laugh and carry on as if everything was normal, he realizes that the trying, the acting, is working.

He wishes Lucas was here. Even if he hates him. Even if he'll never love him again. He thinks he can look into Lucas's eyes only once, only for a moment, and things wouldn't hurt as badly as they do.

When the food is almost gone, Yann stands up and taps his glass dramatically. He clears his throat, then speaks. "Good morning, everyone. Thank you for attending the celebration of the 19th birthday of Eliott Demaury."

Everyone joins in the act, clapping respectfully with silly, somber expressions. 

"Eliott, you're home now," Yann continues, suddenly a bit more serious. "You've been dearly missed and you _are_ dearly loved by everyone in this room. As always, but especially this year, we wish you health and happiness. We're here to help in any way that we can, okay?"

Eliott doesn't fight back his tears this time, but they don't fall quite yet. He nods. "I know."

"Good," Yann replies, genuine and warm. "We also promise to get you a better gift next year, since this year it was a pretty short notice. _Nevertheless..._ My fine sir, this year, we have a birthday card for you."

Yann takes an envelope from Imane, then hands it to Eliott. He opens it at the chanting urging of his friends. It's a basic card with a blue background and a cute, simple drawing of a birthday cake on the front. The inside is full of handwritten messages.

_Happy birthday, Eliott! Here's to so many more, mon cherie! -Arthur_

_Happy birthday!! We love you so so much!!!! -Alexia_

_Eliott! Happy birthday! I love you, mec. -Basile_

The messages go on, then he sees familiar, jagged cursive at the bottom of the card.

_Happy birthday, Eliott! I'm sorry I couldn't be there, but we'll celebrate some other time. I promise. -Lucas_

"Lucas signed it?" Eliott asks, his voice frail.

"He really felt bad about not being able to come," Imane says. "So, we let him sign the card. He _is_ your best friend, Eliott. We wanted at least a piece of him here."

Eliott manages a smile. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Eliott," Manon cuts in, reaching across the table to take his hand. "We know how much you've been through."

 _Not everything_ , his heart says, his tongue _wants_ to say. But he just nods, forces the words back down his throat.

"To Eliott!" Yann announces.

A repeated chorus ripples around the table, and the dread sitting in Eliott's stomach opens its mouth, threatening to swallow him whole.

* * *

_june 25th, 1968_

_15:14_

_caen, france_

~

No one left until well after lunchtime. They all hugged him, too, as they left, wishing him happy birthday once again. As much as he hates to admit, he felt a little weight roll off his shoulders each time he watched someone walk out the front door. The tightness in his chest eased a bit, he could breathe a little easier. His mind began to clear; clear of worry, of thoughts of Lucas, his father, his life before his hospitalization, his diagnosis. He could feel himself drawing closer to blessed solitude, to a quiet house with his mother. But he kept wondering again and again if he was being selfish, if he was pushing his friends away for his own gain, his own pleasure and sanity. How did everything turn so sour so quickly? Was it Lucas, and his mere absence, his mere distance? Was it Eliott's own head, and the demon that seems to live within it?

"Are you okay, honey?" his mother asks after the last guest—Basile, of course—walked out the front door. "Did you not like the party?"

Eliott has the smallest smile on his face as he shakes his head. "I did. It's just that everything went downhill when I realized Lucas wouldn't be here. And things went even more downhill when I read his note on my birthday card."

"What did he say?" she responds kindly, hanging onto his every word.

"Lies," Eliott chokes out, defeated. "He's a liar, like I am."

"You're not a liar, Ellie," she cuts in, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

He remembers every time false words slipped from his tongue. False, yet sweet words. He told Lucas that he was okay. He told Lucas that he was coping. He told Lucas that he was getting better. He told Lucas that _they_ were getting better.

"I lied to him so many times, Maman," Eliott shakes his head. "It's only fair that he gets to lie to me now."

Her hand drifts down to cradle his face, her eyes filled with tears. "Don't say that. Please, darling."

Eliott tears his eyes away. He can't watch his mother cry again. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Do..." she starts, her tears stopping her voice. "Do we need to go see someone at that new office?"

Eliott feels his whole body tense, feels echoes of the shocks whipping and slashing through his synapses. He hears his own voice, somewhere in the distance, in the past, begging them not to do it, to let him go. He hears his own screams, muffled by the bit in his mouth. He feels ghosts of tears on his face, the aches in his muscles as he fought against the restraints. _Not again, not again, not again._

"It's not an institution, is it?" he asks, his voice stumbling over itself. "Please tell me it's not, Maman."

"It's not," she replies immediately, turning his head to look at him. "It's not, darling. They have doctors there that can help you, and you can leave after an hour or so. You don't have to stay there."

Eliott watches a tear roll down his mother's cheek, then he feels a tear, not a ghost, on his own. He holds back a sob, taking as deep of a breath as he could. "Can we talk about this tomorrow, Maman? Please?"

She pulls him close, kissing his forehead. She lingers for a moment, her body trembling with her sobs. "Of course, my boy," she finally says.

Tears roll down Eliott's cheeks, but he doesn't tremble. He manages a smile. "Thank you."

* * *

_june 26th, 1968_

_02:27_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott can't sleep.

He has his father's coat on, but its weight is suffocating, smothering. He tries to count his breaths, but each one only reminds him of how _empty_ his body feels, as if everything inside him is just a black hole.

He can't sleep.

He gets out of bed, carefully tiptoeing out of his room and down the stairs. It's eerily quiet, eerily soft. The blue, knit socks his mother gave him last year don't breathe against the floor, the wood. His clothes float just above his skin; whispers, ghosts. The slow, small breaths snaking from his mouth are silent as currents as they mingle with the air around him. If he was younger, if he wasn't sick, this would be sacred, cherished. The lull in the waves, the smallest stillness between heartbeats, the single moment when you blink and your eyes are peacefully, briefly shut. But Eliott has learned the danger of open spaces, of possibility, of hope. It will always be interrupted, it will always be overtaken by people, by darkness, by storms and tempests and changing tides. Nothing lasts forever, because _everything_ sets fire to love and silence and every contented sigh. 

_The stair could creak,_ Eliott thinks. _Maman could hear me and come out of her room and ask me if I'm okay again. The water outside could rush closer to the house, calling my name like it's done for years. Lucas could wake from a bad dream and think of Chloé instead of me, another thought chipping me away from his mind. The stars could try to move, groan against the fabric of the universe but we don't notice, we don't hear it. Papa died while I was sleeping, flirting with darkness, the edge of consciousness, while in the room next to me, he sank into it, drowned in it. I almost died while Lucas was sleeping, but he woke up in time to save me, to call my name and pull me back into the light. Lucas almost died when the water, still and whispering, suddenly roared and swallowed him whole. The smallest moments can be so_ wide _._

He reaches the bottom of the stairs, the silence still looming, and he exhales.

He wanders warily into the kitchen, deciding absentmindedly to make a cup of tea. He can boil a small pot of water for it instead of using the kettle, so he doesn't wake his mother with its shrill shriek. 

He watches the water slowly come to a boil. He watches the bubbles tremble at the bottom, drift erratically to the top before they let go, gliding across the surface before slamming into the sides of the pot, sliding back to the bottom, bleeding, exploding. He watches this cycle roll and froth, steam and mumble. He turns the burner off when the bubbles are moving too quickly for him to keep track of. He pours the water slowly into his cup, the color and flavor leaching into it. He watches the teabag relax, float to the top. He drags it by the string across the surface of the water, twirls it around until it leaves a small cyclone behind it. He pulls it out, dangles it over the water, watches moisture drip from its curled edges. And once he thinks it's steeped to his liking, he throws the teabag away. Somehow, he feels more and more valuable with every breath, with every small movement. He takes his first sip, and the once comforting warmth just feels like _heat_ , a mass burning in his belly. He exhales.

He looks out the window, and he sees the silver, sparkling sand and the rippling, sighing waves. Perhaps they'll sing, tonight. Perhaps the moon will join them again.

Eliott carefully opens the back door, sitting on the grass, his hands wrapped round his cup of tea, his nerves frayed, his mind on edge. He takes another sip, but the burning in his stomach only worsens.

He sets his tea down, off to the side, listening and watching for a moment. He hears the sand whisper out its love when the water touched it, hears it sigh and bid the water farewell as it recedes. He hears the wind with its same, old secrets, and it doesn't send a chill down his spine anymore. He looks up at the sky, at the moon, listening carefully for her song. He thinks he can hear her humming, her voice quiet and weak. She hums the melody of an old song his mother sang all the time when he was younger, a melody familiar and simple and sweeping and _aching_. The words come to his mind, but the moon doesn't sing them. She continues with the melody, the music stretching softly over the darkness, over the people sleeping below her. Eliott exhales.

He studies the stars around the moon, and he can't help but remember Lucas's words.

 _Who knew billions of burning, little flames could all love something so much they would all surrender to it, mold and stretch at the flick of its hand? I'm not sure if you know that, my love. You must be made of_ _stars._

He must've memorized every word of that letter, every curve and every line of every letter. He was in love. Hopelessly, recklessly, joyously.

 _How do I forget about him?_ he asks the moon, the stars, the wind, the waves, the shore. _How do I forget about his voice, his eyes, his lips? How do I forget my entire life?_ _How do I stop loving him?_

When they don't answer, Eliott closes his eyes, focuses even more on his hearing.

 _How do I stop loving him?_ he asks again, sending out every bit of his soul upward, onward.

There's still no answer. 

He opens his eyes, blinks away a film of tears. He sees a star shoot across the sky, its trailing ashes stark white against the black sky. Like any dying thing, it's brighter than it was before, stronger. It soars above Lucas's house, shooting farther and farther off into the horizon and sizzling out.

The light in Lucas's room is on. Eliott can see him sitting on his windowsill, gazing out on the water, just like he is.

A part of Eliott, almost all of him, wants to walk over and knock on Lucas's window, just like they promised they could all those years ago. They could talk. They could argue. They could make up. They could be best friends again. They could go back to normal, or as normal as their current circumstances could allow them. They could be Lucas and Eliott again. Couldn't they?

Maybe tonight, Lucas will let Eliott explain everything that happened that fateful, devastating night. And maybe he'll understand. Maybe he'll remember the life that they've spent together, and maybe he'll decide he's not ready to give that up yet. If he hasn't decided already.

He turns his face back to the sky, closing his eyes again. He asks, _do I have to stop loving him?_

There's no answer.

"I don't want to stop loving him," he says aloud, but so quietly he could barely hear himself.

He looks back over at Lucas's house, and his heart sinks as he watches the light turn off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope all of you enjoyed this chapter!! hopefully it's a bit lighter than last chapter. if you did like it, feel free to leave a comment or a kudos!! i seriously appreciate any support y'all have or will give me. and i promise things between eliott and lucas will get better, it's just gonna take a bit of time. 
> 
> please please stay safe, especially in the crazy world we're living in right now. stay home, wash your hands, and pay attention to your body and the people around you who are vulnerable or feeling anxious. now is the time to take care of each other.
> 
> have a good day/night/week!!


	4. 03—falsely sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott sees a psychiatrist / Eliott bumps into someone and receives an invitation / Eliott remembers the day him and Lucas made their best friends forever drawings / Eliott goes to a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: discussions of suicide attempts, death, manic and depressive episodes, and uses of the q slur

_july 4th, 1968_

_10:28_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wishes his mother was here to hold his hand. He isn't sure why he needs her here so much right now. He spent almost two years at the institution without her, where everything around him was blinding white and the air was cold and stale. Here, in a room at the psychiatric clinic, the floors are carpeted, the walls are painted a warm, beige color, and there are flowers on the tables, paintings on the walls; the small couch he's sitting on is comfortable, new. Maybe it's because he knows his mother _could_ be here—she's just down the street, browsing through books at the library—but he told her he would be okay by himself. Maybe he could tell someone he just needs to go get her really quickly then he'll be back for his appointment. It would just be a minute or two. He would be back before they knew it—

There's a knock at the door, then it opens. Eliott jumps, but tries to calm himself down as the doctor enters the room. He's a tall, slim man around his mother's age. His hair is graying in flecks throughout, and his short, well-kept beard is almost completely gray. He's wearing a white button-up shirt and gray slacks, and a plain red tie. He smiles kindly at Eliott, walking over to him and holding out his hand.

"Eliott Demaury, yes?" he asks, maintaining his smile.

Eliott smiles back weakly, shaking the doctor's outstretched hand. "Yes, sir."

"My name is Dr. Garnier," he replies, taking a seat in the chair across from Eliott. "How about we start with any questions or concerns you want to tell me about. Okay?"

Eliott nods. "Okay," he considers, a long list already rolling around in his brain. Maybe he should start with the question he's most worried about the answer to. He takes a deep breath, wringing his hands. "Do you give people shocks here?"

Dr. Garnier seemed a little puzzled by the question, but recovered with his kind smile. "The latest guidance is that we should start straying away from that sort of therapy. But, if it's necessary, we usually sedate patients before we give them any sort of electric stimulation. If you don't mind me asking, did they give you electroconvulsive therapy often at the institution in Paris?"

Eliott bites his lip, then nods. "Whenever I got really bad they gave me shocks."

"And you have manic depressive disorder, correct?" Dr. Garnier asks. When Eliott nods, he continues. "Well, Eliott, usually we give someone shocks when medication or other therapies don't work. It's, in most cases, a last resort. Did they try to help you in any other way besides the shocks?"

Eliott feels anxiety creeping into his system, making his stomach turn and his head spin. "I was on a few medications, but they never worked. They started giving me lithium not too long before I left, and I think it works enough."

"How long have you been home, Eliott?" Dr. Garnier asks, looking up from his notes.

"A week and a half, maybe?" Eliott answers. "The days have all been blurring together. I always have to ask my maman what day it is, what time it is."

"So you're having trouble readjusting?"

Eliott nods. "It's been really difficult. Caen has changed so much, and my maman changed some things around our old house, and everything was just so _different_. And the day I got home, I went to go visit my... uh, my best friend and surprise him, but..."

Eliott's mouth goes dry, and a lump forms in his throat.

"But...?" Dr. Garnier urges kindly, listening carefully to Eliott's every word.

"He was angry with me," Eliott admits, his voice breaking. "Really angry."

"Your best friend was?" Dr. Garnier says, even more puzzled. "Do you know why he was angry?"

Eliott nods. He doesn't want to say it. He could never say the words out loud to anyone, let alone himself. He feels a tear roll down his cheek. He wipes it away quickly, sniffling. He nods again, and hopes Dr. Garnier wouldn't ask anymore questions about it.

"Why was he angry?" Dr. Garnier asks again.

Eliott runs his fingers along his bottom lip, trying to think of an answer. An answer that skirted around the real reason. "Some... Something that happened. Right before I was sent to the institution."

Eliott hears papers rustling. He looks up and sees Dr. Garnier searching for something in a small folder. He finds the page he's looking for, his eyes scanning it quickly. He sighs.

"It says here that the reason you were admitted to the institution due to a suicide attempt," he says quietly. "Is that why your friend was angry?" 

Eliott nods. More tears are falling from his eyes, and it's getting harder for him to hold them back. The words _suicide attempt_ rattle loudly in his mind, drowning out all his other thoughts. 

"You seem to care about your friend a lot, Eliott," Dr. Garnier observes. "Did he give you a chance to explain yourself, or explain what happened the night of your attempt?"

Eliott shakes his head. "I don't think I could have if he did give me a chance, either. I can't talk about what happened that night, or really anything that happened before. It's too hard. It hurts too much."

"These are very traumatic events, Eliott. It's okay if they're difficult to talk about," Dr. Garnier says.

"It's been two years," Eliott breathes, shutting his eyes. "Two years is a long time. Time enough to get over it, right?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Garnier replies. "There are things we simply can't forget. It's okay if you're still grieving, Eliott. Do you understand?"

Eliott nods, sniffling. "I understand."

"When you got to the institution," Dr. Garnier begins. "Were the doctors and nurses aware of the circumstances that caused you to be institutionalized?"

Eliott nods. "My maman told them everything."

"Were any of your treatments meant to help you process those traumas? Were they ever addressed?"

Eliott shakes his head. "I don't think so."

Dr. Garnier sighs. "They should have been a long time ago. I deeply apologize that that wasn't done when it should have been. I want to start working on that with you, Eliott. Okay?"

Eliott takes a deep, shaky breath. "Okay."

"I know it's hard," Dr. Garnier begins. "But can you tell me what happened leading up to your institutionalization? You don't have to give me any details you're not comfortable sharing. Okay?"

Eliott nods, trying to collect himself. "One time, around Christmas, I realized I was feeling more energetic than usual. The day after Christmas, I was in my room all day sketching in the new sketchpad my parents got me. I think I wrote some sort of comic book. But I didn't think anything of it when it was happening. My whole life I've had these strange, random bursts of energy. Then, around mid-January I started to get depressed, but I just figured it was because it was winter. My maman gets sad during winter sometimes, so I just thought I was like her. Things went back to normal beginning of February, but I was still kinda fluctuating. But then..." Eliott's words were stuck in his throat, but he breathed slowly, and let the words stumble out of his mouth. "As long as I can remember, my papa would get sick really easily. Maman said he was badly injured in the war and his health was never the same after that. But that May, he got really sick. It was different this time. We could tell. We took him to the hospital, and we always stayed in his room with him. We would sleep there every night just in case something happened, and one morning I woke up and... He was dead."

"My condolences," Dr. Garnier replies quietly.

"I became so depressed I barely had the strength to breathe. But I had my maman, and Lucas, and all our other friends."

"Is Lucas your best friend?" Dr. Garnier replies.

Eliott nods. "A little over a month after Papa died, I started getting excited again. In the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn't be reacting this way, but I was so _happy_. I ran all over the place with Lucas, and around sunset we went down to the beach. The water was calm, and then there was this _wave_ and it crashed over Lucas and pulled him under. I was able to pull him out, but when I got him to shore, he wasn't breathing. He was dead for about ten minutes, but I was able to revive him. I can't imagine what would've happened if I wasn't able to save him. And after that... It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. All these... _emotions_ were clashing within me. It was like I was walking in a minefield. I went through this for a day or two. Then, that night, I reorganized my bookshelf four or five times by color and title and author's name and height, then the next moment I started crying and I couldn't stop. I realized I couldn't take it anymore. So, I..." Eliott didn't want to finish his sentence, and he didn't have to. 

"That's quite the weight to carry, Eliott," Dr. Garnier says, setting his notes aside. "And Lucas is angry with you, too? Have you tried to reach out to him? Will he talk to you?"

Eliott shrugs. "I haven't tried to, but I don't think he'd be willing to talk to me. He made himself pretty clear the last time we talked."

"How long have you known Lucas, Eliott?" 

"We've known each other since we were babies. I'm only a couple of weeks older than him. We've spent our whole lives together. Literally. I can't imagine living a life without him, and suddenly I am. He's moving on. He's engaged. He'll be going off to medical school in Paris. He's gonna leave me behind."

"Eliott," Dr. Garnier says, looking Eliott straight in the eye. "You owe it to yourself and to Lucas to try and fix whatever's happening between you two. I can see how much you care about him. He must feel the same way, right?"

Eliott shakes his head. "He won't listen. He's stubborn as a mule. I told my maman, he's had two years to make up his mind about me and what happened that night. He hates me, and his mind is made about that. It's not going to change, and it shouldn't. I abandoned him. All I would've left behind if he hadn't stopped me that night is a _letter_."

"Lucas is the one who stopped you?" Dr. Garnier asks. 

"He was," Eliott replies. "I was... I was about to walk out into the water but he called my name and ran to me and he just held me. He was there. And then I had to leave, and when I came back, he wasn't there anymore. Not for me, anyway."

"Does he know about your diagnosis? What your diagnosis means as far as how it affects you and your relationship with him?"

Eliott sighs, shrugging. "I'm sure my maman told him when they told her my diagnosis. I don't know if he knows anything specific, really."

Dr. Garnier thinks for a moment, then asks, "Do you think your mother could get through to him?"

Eliott thinks, too, imagining the scenario play out in his head. "Maybe. She always calls him her second son."

"She knows about the situation between you two?" 

"She was the first person I went to after I tried to talk to him," Eliott nods. "She knows almost everything about me."

Dr. Garnier smiles. "I'm glad you're so close to her, Eliott. Were you close with your father as well?"

Eliott smiles sadly, nodding. "We were a happy, tight-knit family. Maman and I miss him a lot."

"He seems like he was a good man," Dr. Garnier replies.

"He was," Eliott agrees. "He was the best man in the world, I think."

"You've been through so much, Eliott," Dr. Garnier says, his smile even kinder. "But I can tell you have so much strength in you yet. You have your whole life ahead of you, boy. Make it the best it can be. Okay?"

Eliott smiles back, nodding. "Okay."

"Good," Dr. Garnier replies, patting Eliott softly on the shoulder. "Unless you have any more questions or concerns, Eliott, you're free to leave. Though, I would like to ask your mother a few questions. Is she in the lobby?"

"She went down to the library, but I can go and tell her you want to talk to her."

Dr. Garnier nods. "If you would, please. It'll just be for a few minutes."

Eliott nods, rising from his seat. Dr. Garnier stands up, too, holding out his hand. Eliott shakes his hand, giving him a shy smile.

"If something happens, or if you need us for any reason at all, don't hesitate to call us and let us you know you need to come in," Dr. Garnier tells him. "We'll be here for you, Eliott."

"Thank you, Doctor," Eliott replies, smiling wider. "Maybe next time I'll have some good news about Lucas."

"I hope so," Dr. Garnier returns genuinely. "I can really tell how much you care about him. Don't let him go. Okay?"

"I won't," Eliott promises.

"Good," Dr. Garnier grins. "Let me lead you out then I'll talk to your mother."

Eliott nods. "Thank you again, Doctor."

"You're very welcome." he smiles back, opening the door and letting Eliott step out. He walks down the hallway and enters the lobby, where the receptionist thanks him for coming and tells him to have a good day. He smiles at her, thanking her, and goes out through the front, glass doors.

It's cooler than usual outside, but still pleasantly warm. The sun is shining, with a few pure white, fluffy clouds sailing across the sky. He can still smell all the salt in the air, just barely hear the waves crashing on the shore. He exhales, feeling _lighter_.

He starts walking down the street, heading to the library. He can see it, just in the distance. It's an older building that somehow managed to survive all the bombings during the war. But, like the church, it has its scars, burns on the outside. It's still a beautiful building, rich and warm with history and every imaginable string of words language can offer. Eliott pauses for a moment when he reaches the entrance, tilting his head back to look up at the top of the building. He remembers how tall it looked when he was younger, and seeing how much shorter it seems now makes Eliott pause a moment longer than he intended to. He shakes his head, opening the door and entering the library.

Eliott's mother was checking out a small pile of books at the front desk. She grins when she notices him walking up to her, giving him one of her tight, comforting hugs.

"How was it, honey?" she asks, warmth and pride in her voice.

"Good," he replies. "But Dr. Garnier wanted to ask you a couple of questions for a couple minutes if that's okay."

"Of course," she replies. The librarian hands her books and she thanks her kindly. "Do you want to look at some books while I do that?"

Eliott shakes a head. "I still have to read all the ones you gave me for my birthday. I'll just wait in the lobby."

"Okay," she nods, putting her books in her bag. "Let's go, then."

They're quiet for a moment as they leave, but she starts asking Eliott questions once they start walking back up to the office.

"Is the doctor nice?"

"He is," Eliott answers. "He's very understanding. Very kind."

"I'm glad," she smiles. "What did you two talk about?"

"He asked me when I first started showing symptoms," he begins. "So I told him about the Christmas before Papa died. And when Papa died and when Lucas drowned and... everything else after that."

His mother looks over at him, an emotion he can't quite distinguish on her face. "Was it hard to talk about?"

Eliott bites his lip, nodding. "It was. But he helped me through it. He gave me advice and everything."

"I'm proud of you, honey," she tells him, tearful. "I know you don't like to talk about all that."

"Thank you, Maman," Eliott smiles, getting tearful, too. "It gets a little easier every time."

They reach the office, and Eliott opens the door for his mother. Dr. Garnier is standing by the front desk, writing something down on his clipboard. He looks up and smiles when he sees them. He sets his clipboard down and approaches them, his hand outstretched towards Eliott's mother.

"I'm Dr. Pierre Garnier," he introduces, shaking her hand. "And you're Eliott's mother, yes?"

"Yes, sir," she replies, smiling back. "Noémie."

"Noémie," Dr. Garnier repeats. "Well, thank you so much for giving me a couple of minutes of your time. I just need to ask a couple of questions about Eliott. Would you like to come back with us, Eliott?"

Eliott shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I can wait here."

"Are you sure, honey?" his mother asks. "I don't mind if you're in there with us."

Eliott smiles, nodding. "I'm sure, Maman."

"Okay," she replies, smiling back. "We won't be long."

Dr. Garnier smiles at Eliott, too, then leads his mother down the hallway.

* * *

_july 4th, 1968_

_11:21_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott sighs, sitting down in one of the chairs. There's a table next to him, one with a vase full of flowers sitting on top of it. They're fresh, the petals soft and almost dewy. They're irises, Eliott thinks, with their droopy petals with a dot of yellow in the middle. He smiles again, leaning in to breathe in their sweet, fragrant scent. He wonders what his time at the institution could've been like if it was anything like this. No shocks, no itchy, stiff clothes, no echoes of desperate screams ricocheting off the walls. Instead, there could have been flowers, space to breathe, kind smiles, time to think and cope. Would he have been away for so long? Would he have been away from home, from his maman, from Lucas for two years? Would Lucas have been less mad when he came back home? Would any of Lucas's love been left, enough to make Eliott smile and his heart sing and and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end?

He sighs again, looking up from the flowers. Through the glass, he can see a couple walking by holding hands. He sees the woman first, and she looks vaguely familiar. She has a round face and high cheekbones, and she's wearing a wide smile. Eliott thinks she's laughing. But the man reveals his face as he looks over at her, and Eliott's heart nearly stops. The eyes, the smile...

_Lucas._

Their eyes meet, and suddenly Eliott's heart has started beating again, stuttering and stumbling over itself. Lucas seems just as overwhelmed, his mouth dropping open and blinking as if he needed to clear his vision. The girl, Chloé, turns, too, but she smiles and waves when she sees Eliott. He manages a smile for her, waving back.

 _Go to_ _him,_ Eliott's heart tells him, its voice clear through his stuttering heartbeat.

He pauses for a moment, but his mind takes over and he stands up, jogging out the door to reach Lucas and Chloé. He stops in front of them, widening his smile.

" _Salut_ ," he greets politely.

" _Salut_!" Chloé returns cheerfully.

" _Salut_ ," Lucas returns quietly. 

"What's this place?" Chloé asks, looking up at the sign.

"It's a psychiatric office," Eliott answers. "I'm just here for a... check-up, I guess."

"Oh," Chloé smiles, almost fake. "I never knew what this was. But how are you feeling, Eliott? Lucas told me you haven't been feeling very well and that's why he hasn't been able to go visit you."

Eliott feels a shallow, echoing pang in his chest. He immediately, desperately looks at Lucas, but his eyes are trained on the ground. Eliott tries to recover, smiling again and looking back at Chloé. "Oh, yes. I'm doing a lot better now. Just needed some time to readjust, I think."

Chloé's eyes widen as she grins. "Oh, that's great to hear! Maybe you'll be well enough to come to Lucas's birthday party next week! We would've invited you right away, but Lucas was worried you may not be feeling well still by the time we have the party. What do you think, Lucas?"

Lucas perks up, his eyes darting between Eliott and Chloé. He must've spaced out a bit. Eliott can see the traces of daydream, fantasy fogging up Lucas's eyes. He smiles a little, nodding. "If Eliott thinks he's well, of course he can come." He looks at Eliott again, his eyes cleared up, but there's a sadness in them, a darkness lurking in the depths. 

"Eliott, you _have_ to come!" Chloé cuts in, so enthusiastic she's almost bouncing. "It'll be so fun for you and Lucas to celebrate together! Especially since he missed your party. I'm still mad at him for not telling me about that, you know. We could've rescheduled our little lunch date."

"It's okay," Eliott lies. "You're his fiancée. You should come first, right?"

Eliott risks another glance at Lucas, but he's zoned out again. He's staring at his hand, the one that's holding Chloé's. He's frowning, his eyebrows knit. Eliott is sure Lucas can't hear a word him and Chloé are saying. He bites his lip, turning his attention back to Chloé.

"I suppose," Chloé replies. "But you've known him since you two were so little. I can't compare to that."

Eliott sighs, shrugging.

"No, really, Eliott," Chloé says, more serious. "Let us make it up to you. Come to Lucas's party."

He takes another deep breath, finally nodding. "Okay. I'll come."

"Perfect!" Chloé beams. "It's a week from today at Lucas's at 7. And if you can't get him a gift, don't worry about it. Just having you there will be gift enough, I'm sure." She looks over at Lucas, realizing he's spacey. She shakes his shoulder gently, looking at him with a hint of concern. He raises his eyebrows, but quickly recovers. He smiles again and nods.

"Of course," he says, pulling her close and kissing her quickly on the lips. "We'd better be on our way, right, _mon amour_?"

Eliott feels another pang in his chest, but it's deeper, sharper. A lifetime ago, Lucas had such a way of piercing Eliott with deep, bleeding cuts that never seemed to hurt. In this new life, this new body, everything suddenly hurts so terribly Eliott feels like he could die. Where did the blissful hurt go? Where's the _tug_ of Lucas's gaze, the _sting_ of his smile? Where did Lucas go? Where did _Eliott_ go?

"We should," Chloé says. "We'll see you at the party, Eliott!" She kisses either side of his face, waving goodbye as she takes Lucas's hand again. 

Lucas waves goodbye, too, but it's small, timid. That sadness is still in his eyes, but it's wider, deeper.

Eliott watches them as they walk away, the pangs in his chest _throbbing_. 

"Turn around, _mon amour_ ," Eliott whispers, just barely louder than his breathing.

Lucas and Chloé are halfway down the hill when Lucas finally looks over his shoulder. Eliott feels that familiar _tug_ , and it hurts _blissfully_ , like it used to.

The throbbing eases.

* * *

_january 3rd, 1956_

_11:56_

_caen, france_

~

_Eliott watches his father sitting in their car, worry making his little stomach turn. All last week, his father has had a horrible cough and a horrible fever. His mother had to convince him to let her take him to the hospital so they could know what was wrong. Yesterday, his father finally agreed, and they finally sat Eliott down and told him he'll need to stay at Lucas's for a little awhile, just until his father gets better. Normally, he would be bouncing off the walls knowing he'd get to spend the night with Lucas, but now he was just scared and sad for his papa._

_"Thank you so much for watching Eliott for us, Madeleine," he hears his mother say. He looks over and sees her handing Lucas's mother a suitcase with all his stuff in it. In a worried rush, she continues,"There's a few days' worth of clothes in there, and his toothbrush and all his favorite books and toys. I'll call every night and let you know if anything happens. And I'll talk to Eliott, too. Hopefully that'll make him feel better. If he ever gets really upset, Eduard and I just hug him and rub his back until he calms down. That usually works."_

_"Breathe, Noémie," Madame Lallemant says, setting the suitcase aside and putting her hands on Eliott's mother's shoulders. "We'll take good care of your boy. We promise. Just take Eduard to the hospital and help him get better. Is it pneumonia again?"_

_Eliott's mother nods, tears welling in her eyes. "I think so."_

_"He's beaten it before," Madame Lallemant reasons, trying to soothe her. "He'll beat it this time, too."_

_She sighs, looking up at the sky for a moment. She shakes her head. "What if he doesn't?"_

_Eliott feels his eyes becoming wet, too. He sniffles, running up to her and throwing his arms around her legs, hugging her as best he can. Her clothes are soft, and she smells warm, and it makes Eliott cry._

_"Oh, honey," he hears her choke out. She moves his arms gently away from her so she can kneel in front of him. She holds his face in her hands, wiping away his tears. "Listen to me, okay? I need you to be a good boy for Madame and Monsieur Lallemant. I need you to listen to them if they tell you to do something. And I need you to pray for Papa."_

_"Will Papa get better, Maman?" he just barely asks through his tears._

_She takes a deep breath, nodding. "He'll get better, baby."_

_"Promise?" Eliott asks._

_She bites her lip, but manages a smile. "I promise, Ellie. Now, come here."_

_She opens her arms, and he throws his around her neck. She hugs him so tightly, he almost can't breathe. She kisses his cheek, his ear, his temple. She rubs his back with small, soothing circles, and his breathing slows and his eyes dry._

_"I have to go now, honey," she whispers in his ear._

_"Okay," Eliott nods, trying to hold back new tears brimming on his lashline._

_"Papa and I will be back as soon as we can," she promises, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I'll call and talk to you every night until we get back."_

_"Okay," he says again. "I love you, Maman."_

_She smiles, a single, small tear rolling down her cheek. "I love you, too, Ellie."_

_She hugs him again, this time lifting him up so his feet aren't touching the ground. She swings him a bit as he kicks his legs._

_"Put me down, Maman!" Eliott giggles._

_She puts him down then, her smile wider and more genuine. "I'll see you soon, honey."_

_"See you soon, Maman," Eliott smiles back._

_She kisses his forehead and walks over to the car, where his father sat waiting. He waves at Eliott through the window, trying to smile, but gets into another coughing fit. Eliott's heart sinks, and the car starts driving away._

_"Are you okay, Eliott?" Madame Lallemant asks him softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Do you wanna have some lunch?"_

_Eliott shrugs. "My stomach feels funny."_

_"Do you just want some water, then? Maybe a few slices of apple? Do you think you could eat that?"_

_Eliott thinks for a moment, then nods. "Thank you, Madame Lallemant."_

_"You're welcome," she replies, smiling kindly. "Let's go inside, then."_

_Eliott nods again, following her inside._

_"Lucas, buddy, are you almost done cleaning your room?" Madame Lallemant calls. "Eliott's here and I'm about to get lunch ready."_

_"Coming, Maman!" Lucas responds, his footsteps pattering on the floor as he runs down the stairs. He beams when he sees Eliott, running over to him and giving him a hug._

_"Hi, Lucas," Eliott giggles, hugging him back._

_"I'm_ so _happy you get to stay here with me," Lucas says, pulling away. "We're gonna have so much fun! Wait, Eliott are you okay? Are you crying?"_

_Eliott wipes at his cheeks and rubs at his eyes. "I'm just scared for my papa. He's really sick again."_

_"My maman said he'll be okay," Lucas replies confidently. "So he'll be okay."_

_Eliott smiles. "My maman said that, too, so yeah. He'll be okay."_

_"Come sit down at the table, boys," Madame Lallemant tells them. "And Eliott, I have your apple ready for you."_

_Eliott finds his chair and Madame Lallemant sets a small plate with apple slices on them in front of him. He thanks her, and nibbles on one. He smiles, though. She must've gotten it from the market today. It's sweet and fresh. He takes a slightly bigger bite, and his stomach settles a little._

_"How come Eliott gets to eat first?" Lucas asks, pouting a little._

_"He said he isn't very hungry, so he just has an apple," Madame Lallemant replies. "But_ you _, my baby boy, are gonna eat as much food as your little stomach can hold, right?"_

_"I'm not a baby, Maman," Lucas groans, rolling his eyes. "But I do like food."_

_"No, you're not a baby," she agrees. "But you're_ my _baby boy. Just like Eliott is Madame Demaury's baby boy," Eliott nods at this, finishing off his second apple slice. "And just like when you grow up and marry a nice girl your baby boys will be her baby boys."_

_"But what if our babies are girls?" Lucas asks._

_"Then they'll be your baby girls," Madame Lallemant answers. "Maybe she'll have some baby boys and maybe you'll have some baby girls, too."_

_Lucas grimaces, shrugging. "Girls are gross."_

_"But_ I'm _a girl, Lucas," she gasps. "Am I gross?"_

_"No," Lucas shakes his head. "Because you're my maman. Girls who aren't my maman are gross."_

_"I don't think girls are gross," Eliott chips in, starting to bite into his third apple slice._

_"Good boy, Eliott," Madame Lallemant smiles. "And good job eating your apple slices."_

_Eliott smiles. "Thank you."_

_"You're welcome," she returns. "And Lucas, our lunch is ready."_

_She sets a plate in front of him with roast beef and potatoes, and Lucas grins. He accepts the fork she hands to him, and starts shoveling potatoes in his mouth._

_"Slow down, buddy," she reminds him. "Enjoy your food."_

_He nods, chewing slower._

_"Now, boys," she begins. "After lunch, do you want to draw and color for a bit? I bought some new crayons yesterday just for you two."_

_It's Eliott's turn to grin. He nods enthusiastically, almost hurting his neck a little. "I love drawing!"_

_She grins back at him. "I know. Your maman told me. But we'll wait until Lucas and I are done with our lunch to start drawing, okay?"_

_"Okay," Eliott agrees. He finishes off his apples, and decides he's still a little hungry. "Madame Lallemant, could I have some potatoes, please?"_

_"Of course," she replies. "Just hand me your plate."_

_He nods, holding it out to her. She spoons out a few, looking to Eliott, who nods. "That's good. Thank you, Madame." He gladly takes his plate back and eats a bit more._

_"I think you could teach Lucas some manners, Eliott," Madame Lallemant teases, looking over at her son._

_Lucas rolls his eyes, eating a bite of roast beef._

_"Or," she continues. "Some drawing techniques."_

_Lucas shrugs, still chewing._

_"I can teach you how to draw animals," Eliott adds. "But I can only draw raccoons, bears, and rabbits."_

_Lucas giggles at Eliott's response. "Okay, Eliott."_

_"I want to learn how to draw more, though," Eliott replies. "We can learn together, Lucas!"_

_Lucas smiles, nodding. "Okay."_

_They all finish their lunches, and Eliott is practically bouncing in his seat as Madame Lallemant goes to get the paper and the brand new crayons. She had gotten the big box with an even wider rainbow of colors to choose from. Eliott's mouth drops open, staring in awe at the pointed ends, all the colors he never knew they used for crayons. He pulls out a blue one, studying the color._

_"Lucas, look," he beams. "This crayon is the same color as your eyes!"_

_"It does!" Madame Lallemant smiles. "We'll have to draw Lucas and use that for his eyes. We can set it aside until we need to use it."_

_Eliott nods, placing it over by Madame Lallemant. He takes a sheet of paper, and grabs a few shades of brown and a black crayon. He starts drawing a bear, small and round and fluffy, smiling wide with two bandages crossed over its heart. He spends a little extra time on the fur, using multiple shades of brown to create a rudimentary yet rich, colorful coat of fur._

_"What are you drawing, Eliott?" Lucas asks._

_Eliott holds up his paper for him to see. "It's my papa, after the doctors make him better."_

_"Your papa's not a bear, Eliott!" Lucas giggles._

_"Lucas!" Madame Lallemant scolds. "Madame Demaury said Eliott draws his papa like a bear."_

_Eliott nods, trying not to seem hurt by Lucas's laughing. "My maman is a rabbit, and I'm a raccoon."_

_"What am I, Eliott?" Lucas asks._

_"Huh?" Eliott hums, confused._

_"What animal am I?" he clarifies._

_"Oh," Eliott stutters. "I don't know. Maybe a hedgehog? Because you're tiny and pointy."_

_Lucas tilts his head, eyebrows knit. "A hedgehog?"_

_"Yeah," Eliott replies, getting a picture in his head. "Here, let me show you."_

_Eliott grabs another sheet of paper and keeps his brown crayons. He draws a hedgehog, with its spikes and whiskers. He writes Lucas's name beneath it and shows it to him, a little nervous._

_"It does look kind of like you, buddy," Madame Lallemant says, smiling. "That's really good, Eliott!"_

_"What do you think of mine, Maman?" Lucas cuts in, showing her his drawing._

_"That's really good, too, Lucas," she replies, her smile widening. "Actually, yours gives me an idea." She takes a sheet of paper and draws a line down the middle of it. "Okay, Lucas, you draw on this side of the paper," she instructs, pointing at the right side of the paper. "And Eliott, you draw on the other side. Then, I was thinking we can write 'best friends forever on the line. Split it in half, you know? What do you boys think?"_

_"I like it," Eliott smiles._

_"I do, too," Lucas agrees._

_"I can draw a raccoon and you can draw a hedgehog!" Eliott says._

_"I don't know how to draw a hedgehog," Lucas replies. "Can you teach me?"_

_Eliott nods, then teases, "Yes, Lucas. I'm Mr. Demaury and I'm your art teacher today."_

_Lucas laughs, and it makes Eliott laugh, too. Eliott tears a small piece off one of his papers and draws on it, breaking down into small shapes and outlines. He tries to keep it simple for Lucas, but he isn't sure how to. He just draws, lets his mind guide his little hand across the page. How does he teach that to Lucas?_

_"This is too hard, Eliott," Lucas pouts. "Can't we just draw ourselves?"_

_Eliott feels a little sad that him and Lucas can't do animals, but he nods. "Okay."_

_He can't draw people as well as he can draw animals, but he tries his hardest on his side of the drawing. He draws his hair, his blue shirt and gray pants, his house, the beach and the water. He doesn't think it looks very good, but when he sees it next to Lucas's, he can't help but smile. They look almost exactly the same as far the drawings go. It's like they became one artist, one hand. Eliott loves it._

_"Do you two wanna write 'best friends forever' on there?" Madame Lallemant asks, pointing at the line in the middle. "Eliott, you write B-E, then F-R-I, then F-O-R, okay?"_

_Eliott nods, writing his letters next to the line. Lucas snatches the crayon from his hand and finishes off the message. Eliott feels his heart sink again._

_"Good job, boys!" Madame Lallemant grins, holding up the picture and looking at it more closely. "We need to show this to your parents when they get back, Eliott! They'll_ love _it!"_

_Eliott smiles, imagining his mother's beaming smile and his father's delighted laugh. He misses his parents already._

_"Which side is better, Maman?" Lucas asks._

_"They're both good, buddy," she laughs. "Neither of them are better than the other one."_

_"I like yours, Lucas," Eliott says. "I like your house."_

_"I like yours, Eliott," Lucas replies. "I like your water."_

_"See, you both like the other one better, so they're both good, right?" Madame Lallemant asks._

_Lucas and Eliott nod. Eliott smiles. "Lucas still needs to learn how to draw a hedgehog, though."_

_"I will!" Lucas laughs back. "You need to learn how to draw people, Eliott."_

_Somehow, Lucas's words make Eliott's stomach turn. He feels his throat close up a little, feels his eyes get wet._

_"That's mean," Eliott chokes out._

_Madame Lallemant doesn't hear him, and neither does Lucas._

* * *

_july 11th, 1968_

_18:57_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott studies the drawing he's just finished, examining the lines and the colors. The pale belly and face of the hedgehog accentuating the warm, dusty colors of its spines. The yin-yang structure of the raccoon's face, its spindly fingers and its pointed ears. The color and the grain of the Lallemants' dining room table, the lightest fading and yellowing on the papers they drew on, the tiny little drawings lying on the table. Their little feet dangling in the air as they sit, the raccoon's face falling ever so slightly, the hedgehog's face scrunched up with laughter. The day Eliott still remembers so clearly, over 14 years later. The day Eliott almost realized he would love Lucas for the rest of his life. The day he realized how mean Lucas can be sometimes. The day he realized he was afraid Lucas could be even meaner if he wanted to. But 5-year-old Eliott could never foresee Lucas calling him selfish, telling him he never loved him, not truly. He could never imagine Lucas turning his back to him and walking away, no matter how much it hurt him to do it. And, if Eliott is honest, he still can't quite imagine it either, even though the pain of it still lingers just beneath his skin. Even though the pain of it bleeds into every line, every color of his drawing.

Eliott shifts his focus to the letter he plans to attach with the drawing. It's brief, and Eliott barely recognizes his own handwriting, but it says everything Eliott couldn't say through his drawing.

_Lucas,_

_I know this isn't the best time to do this, but we need to talk. We need to explain ourselves to each other. We've loved each other far too much and for far too long for us to part the way we did the day I came home. We deserve better._ You _deserve better, Lucas. I need you to know that. I'm willing to follow you wherever you go if you'll have me along. Just say the word. Just give me a day, a time, a place. I'll be there. And I'll fight. I'll fight until my last breath, or until you tell me to surrender, whichever comes first. My loyalty belongs to you, Lucas. Yes, it's fallen short. Yes, at times it's cracked and timid. But it's yours. And it will be yours as long as you'll have it. Just let me know if you don't want it anymore, or if you plan on nurturing it for only a little while longer. Just_ speak _to me, Lucas. When you're ready. You know where I'll be when you are ready. I'll wait for you. I promise._

_Sincerely yours, Eliott_

It's an explanation, an apology, a love letter, tied up with a fraying, old bow. All Eliott can do is hope that it'll be enough to convince Lucas to give him another chance, give _them_ another chance. Lucas doesn't need to break off his engagement. He doesn't need to kiss Eliott or hold him until he falls asleep like he used to. He just needs to be there whenever he can. He just needs to be Eliott's friend again. Is that too much to ask for? 

He sighs deeply, folding up the letter and the drawing and placing each of them in separate envelopes. He seals the one with the letter first, then writes Lucas's name on the front of it. His hand shakes as he writes it, the letters coming out jagged and stilted. He shakes his head, moving on to the envelope with the drawing. He wills himself to slow down, spend as much time on each letter as he can. He writes Lucas's name gently, patiently. He doesn't want Lucas to open the letter in front of everyone anyway. It's okay if that one isn't as pretty.

"Eliott, honey," his mother says, knocking quietly on his door. "You're gonna be late for Lucas's party."

"I'm coming, Maman," Eliott replies, gathering himself, his emotions.

"You're looking smart," she smiles, studying his outfit. "I don't remember that shirt."

Eliott smiles back, smoothing out his shirt. It's white accented with purple, pink, and blue flowers, and the sleeves are a little longer, resting just above his elbows. He's paired it with his favorite navy blue slacks. He hates to admit how long it took him to pick his outfit out. But he plays it off, shrugging nonchalantly. "Just something I found in my closet."

"Are you excited for Lucas's party?" she asks, smiling widely, but still visibly bracing herself for his answer.

He shrugs, then nods. "Yeah, I think so."

"Are you sure you don't want me to reach out to Madeleine, like Dr. Garnier said?" she asks softly, relaxing but her posture is still concerned. "You don't have to go to Lucas's party if it's going to make you upset."

"I have to talk to him, Maman," Eliott sighs. "And now's my chance to do that. I'll get him alone at some point, and I'm going to at least tell him my side of the story from that night. He needs to know why I did that to him, even though there's no excuse for it. _I_ need him to know why I did it."

She gives him one of her wobbly smiles. "Okay. But if you need to come home, come home, okay?"

Eliott nods. "I will." He gives her a brief hug and kisses her on the cheek. "Thank you, Maman."

She mutters a "you're welcome" as he walks down the stairs, tucks Lucas's letter into his pocket. He turns and waves at her as he goes out the door. He shuts it behind him, pausing for a moment to even out his breathing. He shuts his eyes, repeating the same words to himself.

 _He needs to know, he needs to know, he needs to_ _know_

He opens his eyes, exhaling slowly, deeply. He walks over to Lucas's house, the grass soft and silent beneath his feet. The sound of the wave, its whisperings soothe him a little, slowing his breathing and his heartbeat a little more. He hears crickets, the wind, car engines—and somewhere, distantly, the gentle, insistent buzzing of _hope_. It guides him across the way to Lucas's house, with warm lights spilling out of its windows and old, worn cars surrounding it.

He walks up to the front door, memories from a few weeks ago making his feet feel glued to the front porch and a lump lodge itself in his throat. He listens a little closer to the noises of the night, working up the courage, the strength to knock on the door.

Chloé answers, with her too wide smile and too bright eyes. They get even brighter when she sees him. She's suddenly wrapping him in a tight, uncomfortable hug.

"We didn't think you were going to make it, Eliott!" she beams.

"Fashionably late?" he tries, laughing nervously.

"You do look amazing," she compliments. "I love your shirt, where'd you get it? I bet I could convince Lucas to wear something like this."

"I honestly can't remember," he answers truthfully. "I think I got it at that second-hand store downtown a while ago."

"Oh, I love that store!" Chloé smiles. "Lucas and I will have to go down there. But, come in! You can put any gifts you have on that table over there."

Eliott smiles back at her, walking past her nervously as she holds the door open for him. 

"Eliott!" He hears several people cheer once he enters the Lallemants' living room. 

He grins back at everyone, quickly scanning the room. He sees Yann, Emma, Manon, Imane, Alexia, Arthur with a girl with short, curly hair and glasses (he thinks they're speaking sign language with each other), Basile and Daphné, Daphné's little sister (Lola?) and a shorter girl with purple hair he doesn't recognize, Idriss and Sofiane, and several other people he doesn't recognize. _They must all be Chloé's friends_ , Eliott assumes. He tries to ignore the strangers' stares, instead focusing on trying to find Lucas.

He spots him, then, standing by the gift table talking to his mother. 

Lucas is wearing that old denim shirt he always wears for special occasions, and he still looks so good wearing it for the thousandth time. He's laughing at something his mother says, and Eliott can hear his laugh over any other noise in the world in that one, single moment. His laughter drowns out the song of the crickets, the roar of the waves, the drumming of Eliott's heart in his chest, the thunder rumbling from some distant stormcloud. The world is quiet, and the only noise that's left, the only sound that's triumphed over the deafening silence is Lucas's _laugh_. Eliott feels himself smile, feels a weight roll off his shoulders, feels his chest _fill_ with _something_ he can't quite describe. The letter in his back pocket and the drawing in his hand are almost burning him, but it reminds him of the burns Lucas would give him. _Not quite a burn_ , he amends himself, _but a_ flicker.

Suddenly, Lucas is turning his head and his eyes meet Eliott's. His laughter peters out, his face falling. Eliott feels all the weight come back as noise, sound returned to the world, and it's exchanged for Lucas's silence. Lucas smiles, a little too wide to be genuine, and he offers a quick apology to his mother before walking up to Eliott.

"You made it!" he says, opening his arms for a hug.

"I did," Eliott mutters, smiling weakly. He accepts Lucas's hug, and his heart almost breaks at how loosely Lucas clings onto him. "I guess you could say I was fashionably late."

"Of course you were," Lucas chuckles. He gestures vaguely at the envelope with the drawing. "Is that for me?"

"It is," Eliott answers, trying to strengthen his smile.

"Just put it right here, then," Lucas invites, nodding his head toward the gift table. "I'll be opening everything in a few minutes."

Eliott checks the envelope, making sure Lucas's name is printed clearly, without tremor. Once he's sure it's the correct one, he places it on top of a small, wrapped box. He looks back over at Lucas, whose gaze has found itself somewhere in the cosmos. And once again, Eliott can't keep himself from staring. He swears the stars themselves appear in Lucas's eyes. He swears a universe lies within them and that's why Lucas gets so lost so often. There's a world inside his mind, bleeding into the irises of his eyes, and he's trapped in there, and Eliott wants something between freeing Lucas from his prison and exploring the place Lucas so often retreats to. But ever since that day at the beach, Eliott's afraid he would've seen that same, blank, star-filled gaze if Lucas's eyes were open as he pulled him to shore that day by the water.

Lucas finds his way back to earth, finds his way back into Eliott's eyes, and Eliott looks down as quickly as he can. He feels like he's 15 again, barely able to look his best friend in the eyes because it fills him with this _feeling_. A feeling that leaves a tingle in his fingers and toes, a warm blush to his cheeks, and a seed of doubt in the back of his mind. A feeling he's familiar with, a feeling he's known almost as long as he's known Lucas, a feeling he could never quite name.

_Love._

"Eliott," Madame Lallemant's soft voice greets. She places her hand on his shoulder, giving him her kind smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lucas walk away. "We're so happy you could make it."

"Thank you, Madame," Eliott smiles back.

"How's your mother?" she asks. "She missed you terribly while you were gone, you know."

"She's very well," he replies. "And I know. I missed her terribly, too. And I missed you and Lucas."

"I've been trying to convince that boy to stop spending so much time with Chloé," she sighs, shaking her head. "You two have barely spent any time together since you got back."

"Do they spend a lot of time together?" Eliott asks nervously. "Him and Chloé?"

"Oh, yes," she answers, almost weary. "They're practically attached at the hip. I want my baby boy to fall in love and be happy, but I worry about them. They're very much in the honeymoon phase, and they're only engaged!"

Eliott's eyes find Lucas again, and he has his arm around Chloé, looking at her like she's the sun, moon, and stars themselves. He kisses her, and they melt into each other. Eliott almost feels sick.

"He needs to be with his friends again," Madame Lallemant continues. "I think it could do him some good. His only company simply can't be only me and his fiancée."

"Is he not going out with Yann or Arthur or anyone?" Eliott asks, puzzled.

"They offer to take him out for lunch or just a day downtown, and he always declines," she sighs. "When they came by to invite him to your birthday party, he turned it down so quickly it almost made me dizzy."

"He did?" Eliott asks weakly, his heart crumbling and sinking down to his feet.

Madame Lallemant looks at him sadly, giving him a sad smile. "He did."

Eliott sighs, looking down at the floor. He bites his lips, wills his tears to stay back.

"Maybe you could talk to him?" Madame Lallemant suggests. "Snap him out of this?"

"I was planning on talking to him, anyway," Eliott replies. "We need to talk."

"Oh, is everything okay with you and Lucas?" she asks worriedly, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Eliott resists the urge to flinch at all the memories. "It's... rough."

"Did something happen?" she asks, carefully this time.

Eliott takes a deep breath, deciding whether to tell Madame Lallemant what happened or not. He opens his mouth, but the sound of someone tapping gently on a glass interrupts him.

"Well, I'd like to thank all of you for coming," Lucas says, projecting his voice across the living room. "Thank you for your company and for taking time out of your night to come celebrate with all of us. I'm going to open all these lovely presents, then we can all converse and mingle some more. Thank you all again."

Light applause ripples throughout the living room. Lucas picks up the first gift he sees from off the table, but Eliott doesn't pay much attention to him.

"We never had parties like this growing up," Eliott whispers to Madame Lallemant. "Was this Chloé's idea?"

Madame Lallemant nods. "Lucas is happy, though. The happiest I've seen him in a while."

 _He used to be this happy around_ _me,_ Eliott thinks, resigned.

"Eliott, this one is from you, right?" he hears Lucas ask. He manages a nod and a smile in response. He turns towards Lucas, his heart pounding as he opens up the envelope. He swears he sees a genuine smile tug at the corner of Lucas's lip, but it falls once he unfolds the paper and he sees the drawing. The room is eerily quiet as a thousand emotions haunt Lucas's face. Eliott feels every eye turn to him, but his are focused on Lucas.

"What is it, darling?" Chloé asks, reaching to take it from him. 

"Nothing, _mon amour_ ," Lucas dismisses, unknowingly sending another dagger digging deeply into Eliott's chest. He quickly folds up the drawing and places it back into the envelope. He turns his gaze to Eliott, his voice falsely sweet as he says, "Thank you, Eliott."

Eliott just nods, letting those same thousand emotions on Lucas's face swirl and mix in his chest into a dangerous poison; green with jealousy, bitter with regret, and thick with hope. Eliott feels like he could choke on it.

But Lucas keeps opening the rest of his gifts, smiling and laughing and showing his gratitude in a way Eliott knows he wouldn't if he was being genuine.

_Falsely sweet..._

Eliott feels like he could explode. He starts walking away, muttering some sort of excuse to Madame Lallemant. He finds his way to the bathroom, which is thankfully open. He shuts the door behind him, making sure to lock it.

He leans against the door, shutting his eyes and willing his breaths to come in and out of his lungs slowly, calmly. 

_Breathe_ , a thousand voices tell him, whispering above the thousand emotions in his chest. _Breathe._

But the tears begin to spill, and his mind sees a new, clear sky; gray and dark and soulsucking.

He shouldn't have given Lucas that drawing. The way Lucas's face fell starts playing over and over again in his mind against the storming sky, the way his lips parted in shock, realization, and how the gentle tug at the corner of his lip suddenly went slack, and gravity, the weight of Eliott's mistake pulls it down, almost to his chin. Eliott hurt him in that moment. He's hurt him again, even though he vowed to himself and to Lucas that he would never do that again. Not after he hurt him so badly during his attempt.

When Lucas hurts him, _truly_ hurts him, it's often no more than a scratch or a bruise to him. Their reunion was the first time Eliott felt like Lucas was hurting him so badly he could easily succumb to the wounds. He felt like Lucas had stolen all the breath from his lungs, like he'd ripped out all his guts until he was just an empty shell lying on the beach, like he had his heart in his hand and he was slowly _squeezing_ the life out of it.

But Lucas has felt this way far too many times. And almost all those times were Eliott's fault.

The day that they kissed for the first time, Lucas said that Eliott was the reason he knew his heart was beating for the wrong reasons, that its eyes were blind and it fell in love with the wrong people. And Lucas said he'd spent night after night agonizing over the little, traitorous heart in his chest, the boy sleeping soundly next door. Crying himself to sleep, or not sleeping at all and staring at the ceiling that showed him images of everything he should want, and having to listen to his heart say _no, no, no, no, that's not what I want_. He would remember all the times his father or the boys at school called him a queer, and he would remember all the times he would deny it. Lucas Lallemant could never be a queer. He _couldn't_. He would fall to his knees, praying to the god his mother loved so much to give him _anything_ that would make those sinful feelings stop. Lucas told Eliott that one night he prayed and asked God to just kill him. Stop his heart and his breath before he let the temptations wash over him and drown him. Those nights, those prayers were Eliott's fault.

The day Lucas drowned was one of the days Eliott felt _unstoppable_ and so in _love_ with this boy he's loved his entire life. The only thing he could think about that whole episode was a life with Lucas. Smiling and laughing over breakfast, smiling and laughing over lunch, smiling and laughing over dinner. Dancing in the kitchen to the old records their parents used to play in their houses. Swimming in the ocean until their skin gets all pruny and their muscles begin to ache and the salty air starts fogging up their lungs. Kissing each other until they can't breathe. Falling asleep in each other's arms every night. Growing old together, loving every wrinkle and gray hair nevertheless. So, Eliott wanted to spend the whole day with Lucas, running around and letting their laughter echo off the roads, the trees, the old buildings still decimated from the war. They went to the beach lastly, and Lucas was tired, but Eliott insisted they swim for a bit. The water was calm. They would have fun. But as the afternoon wore on, the waters became choppy. A wave swallowed Lucas whole and his soul almost drifted out to sea, towards the horizon. He was dead. It didn't matter if Eliott was able to bring him back. Lucas was dead. And it was Eliott's fault.

The night that was so dark Eliott thought he could ever see light again was the night that Eliott hurt Lucas more than he could ever see, ever understand. He tried to take himself away from him, from his mother, from the world. The water was almost at his waist, the waves cresting at his chest. He was only steps away from drowning. He hopes drowning is like Lucas said it was. The worst panic he'll ever feel in his life, then, the most tranquil calm. Then he'll fall asleep, give himself to the waves. Disappear. He left notes for Lucas and his mother. Everything will be okay. This was the right decision. But, just as water started to lap into his mouth, he hears someone call his name. He turns around, and Lucas is running toward him, slowing down as he approached the water. In a moment of clarity, Eliott could see the _pain_ in Lucas's face. It coaxes him out of the water, away from eternity. Lucas ventures into the water, throwing his arms around Eliott and sobbing. He should've known in that moment that what he tried to would've been the gravest mistake he could've made. But it took two years for him to realize. It took two years of Lucas imagining what would've happened if he had been too late for him to realize. Lucas told him. He told him his worst nightmare. Pulling his body out of the water and not being able to save him. Lucas's drowning was an accident, and Eliott got to him in time. But Eliott's would've been on purpose, and Lucas would've been too late. How could Lucas ever live with that? How could Eliott make him go through something like that?

Eliott realizes that Lucas was right.

There's a knock at the door, and Eliott almost _screams_ as he jumps back. Then his heart nearly stops when he hears a voice say his name.

"I need a minute, Lucas," he chokes out. "Please."

"I can wait," Lucas replies, his voice thin, full of an emotion Eliott can't discern. 

Eliott takes a deep breath, wiping away his tears. 

"Meet me where the grass ends," Lucas says, almost emotionless. "Okay?"

"Okay."

He hears Lucas's footsteps walk away, and he exhales as slowly as he can.

_Breathe._

He unlocks the door, stepping out of the bathroom slowly. He takes another deep breath and walks out the back door. He can see Lucas standing where he said he would be. He must've heard Eliott coming, because he turns towards him. The light from the back porch is just enough to illuminate his face. He's hiding something somewhere in there, and it shows in the way he's biting his lip, as if he were biting back a secret.

Eliott walks forward, his stomach turning and his mouth going dry as he approaches him. There's silence for a moment, and Eliott searches for what Lucas is hiding. But he can't find it. His eyes start to drift to the ground, and he sees a sheet of paper in Lucas's hand. But it's not his drawing. He feels the color drain from his face as he checks his pocket and finds nothing.

"How... How did you get that?" he stammers, his hands beginning to shake.

"My maman said it fell out of your pocket when you ran off," Lucas replies, his voice still void of emotion. "And I've read it."

"And?" Eliott chokes out, looking up at Lucas. The facade has finally cracked. Lucas looks _exhausted_.

"I don't know what to do, Eliott," he says, sighing wearily.

"I don't know, either," Eliott admits. "I was hoping you would know."

Lucas doesn't reply. He stares back at him, hopeless.

"I'm sorry, Lucas," Eliott tries, his tears coming back.

"For what?" Lucas asks, shaking his head.

 _Everything,_ Eliott wants to reply. He wants to cradle Lucas's face in his hands and tell him, _Everything!_ But Lucas speaks before he can do anything.

"The drawing? The letter? Everything that happened before? For what?"

Eliott stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to keep them from doing what they so desperately _want_ to do. "Everything," he still says.

"Everything?" Lucas repeats, raising his eyebrows. "You have a lot to catch up on, then."

"I know," Eliott sighs.

"Your letter was touching, Eliott," Lucas says. "It really was. But I'm sure you understand that your loyalty isn't as precious to me now as it was when we were younger."

"I do," Eliott agrees. "That's why I want us to talk, Lucas. I told you, I'll talk whenever you're ready to talk."

"I'm not ready to talk yet," Lucas replies, shaking his head. "But I need you to know a few things. Right now."

"Okay," Eliott shrugs. "Tell me, then."

"We can't be... _together_ anymore," Lucas stammers out. "Not like we were before everything happened. I'm in love with Chloé, and I'm going to give her the Christmas wedding she's dreamed of and I'm going to give her everything I have. I was... I was wrong back then. I hadn't met Chloé yet. I'm not a queer. I know now."

Eliott ignores the lump in his throat. "Can I ask you a question then, Lucas?"

Lucas nods, and the hesitance of it _stings_. "Okay."

"Did you ever love me the way you love Chloé?" Eliott asks, his voice strangled. "Did... Did you ever love me at all?"

Lucas doesn't respond at first, and Eliott can tell he doesn't like the answer he's about to give him. Finally, Lucas says, "I don't think so, Eliott."

Eliott feels a single, hot tear roll down his cheek. His voice is thick as he replies, "Okay."

"And," Lucas begins, but then pauses. He takes a deep breath, then continues, "I'm sorry for what I said when you came home. It was unfair of me. More than unfair. I was angry and in shock and..." He trails off again.

"What?" Eliott asks softly. "Lucas, please tell me."

Eliott sees tears on Lucas's face, too. "In that moment, I wanted to hurt you," he admits, his voice like shattering glass. "And I knew that what I said would hurt you. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Then why haven't you talked to me since then?" Eliott asks, his voice a little clearer now. "Why did you turn down the boys' invitation to my party so quickly your maman told her it made her dizzy? Why was you happening to run into me outside the psychiatric office the only reason I was invited to your birthday party? Why did you lie to your fiancée about me not feeling well? My house if right across the street, Lucas. You could've walked over and told me anytime. If you were sorry why didn't you say it before?"

"I don't know," Lucas replies, broken. 

Eliott sighs, feeling more defeated than he has in a while. "What else do you want me to know, then?"

Lucas nods, wiping away his tears and gathering himself again. "This is gonna sound stupid now," he mutters, shaking his head. "In your letter, you said that you just wanted to know if I would nurture your loyalty a little longer."

Eliott takes a deep breath, nodding. "And will you?"

Lucas nods again. "I will," he answers. "If you'll let me."

Eliott nods and speaks before he lets himself think. "I'll let you."

Lucas smiles, one of his small, shy ones, and Eliott's tears seem to vanish. "Thank you, Eliott."

Eliott smiles back, small and shy, too. "You're welcome."

Lucas's smile widens, and he looks down at the ground. Eliott used to hate when he did that. He couldn't see Lucas's beautiful smile when he was hiding it like that. Eliott still doesn't like him hiding.

"I guess we'd better get back inside," Lucas says, so nonchalantly it takes Eliott aback. 

Eliott pauses, biting his lip. "I'm... I'm gonna go home, Lucas."

"Oh, you are?" Lucas asks, disappointed.

Eliott nods. "I am."

"Can... Can we hug, then?" Lucas asks, cautiously this time.

Eliott nods. "Of course."

Lucas grins and wraps his arm around Eliott, tighter this time. Their sudden height difference is suddenly much more apparent, but it makes Eliott smile a little. He kisses Lucas's forehead, the skin cool and familiar against his lips. "Happy birthday, Lucas," he says into his hair.

He still feels all those emotions swirling in his chest.

"Thank you," Lucas returns. "Goodnight, Eliott."

"Goodnight, Lucas."

Lucas pulls away first, and waves a small goodbye before he walks towards the house. 

Once Lucas goes inside, Eliott starts walking, his heart sinking to his feet as slowly as if it were sinking into the depths of the ocean. His steps are heavy with a weight, a grief he can't quite name. And tears are rolling down his cheeks, but not from sadness or devastation, but from a kind of _acceptance_. 

Acceptance. That's the name of the thing slowing him down as he trudges home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for keeping up with this story so far!! i hope you're enjoying it and that you'll stick around for more! i also hope all of you are still staying safe and healthy. hopefully we'll all go outside and see our friends soon.
> 
> also, it's official, there'll be 7 more chapters and an epilogue after this chapter!! i finally finished plotting and im so excited for y'all to see where this story will go!!
> 
> as always, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, and feel free to follow me on tumblr @ottelis
> 
> sidenote: i know people probably didn't dye their hair purple in the 60s but im in love with maya already and her hair is iconic and i couldn't resist putting her in the fic as soon as i could lol
> 
> have a good day/night/week!!


	5. 04—charcoal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott makes another visit to his father's grave / Eliott starts drawing again / Eliott remembers a drawing he made of Lucas / Eliott writes Lucas a letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: uses of the q slur and mentions of death, suicide, and electroshock therapy
> 
> a bit of a shorter chapter, but i hope all of you still enjoy it!

_july 18th, 1968_

_12:58_

_caen, france_

~

The days start blurring together again, but the colors are a little clearer, rarely mixing and mudding together. Eliott thinks Friday was mostly gray; Saturday was a pale, sky blue; Sunday was a rich, muted green; Monday was a peachy pink; Tuesday, was a pale, pale yellow; Wednesday was a faded white; and today, Thursday, is a pastel orange. But all Eliott could think about all week was Lucas.

_I don't know what to do, Eliott._

_I'm sure you understand that your loyalty isn't as precious to me now as it was when we were younger._

_We can't be_ together _anymore. I was wrong back then. I'm not a queer. I know now._

_I don't think so, Eliott._

_In that moment, I wanted to hurt you. And I knew that what I said_ would _hurt you._

_In your letter, you said that you just wanted to know if I would nurture your loyalty a little longer. I will. If you'll let me._

All these same words, swirling around in his mind until he's dizzy, until they burn behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. And he hears Lucas's voice through it all, every inflection of disappointment, fatigue, frustration, despondency, and _hope,_ and Eliott feels the sting of it all over again. 

But Eliott doesn't feel devastated. He still feels that lingering sense of _acceptance_ , and it veils him in a thin cloud of depression. Thin enough to see through, but thick enough to darken his surroundings, to start draining the color from everything ever so slightly. It's like a pain, an ache that doesn't hurt too terribly, but it still lingers, constantly trying to keep making its presence known. He can't deny that it's there, and he can't push the pain away as easily. It's bothersome, and it's dark.

He just can't figure Lucas out. And he can't figure out why he let himself accept Lucas's apologies so easily. He should've fought back. He should've asked him more questions, challenged more of his recent actions. He should've let himself take control for once instead of following Lucas's lead, only reacting instead of acting. He should've done so many more things in that moment instead of being so _passive_ , but he can't picture himself taking the initiative again and marching up to Lucas's door and demanding he answer. Perhaps, a small part somewhere in the maze of his mind surrendered that day where the grass ends, and it took over the other night. And maybe that little spec is strong enough to convince the rest of his mind, his body to simply give up. Let Lucas move on. Let him marry Chloé, let him go to Paris for medical school, let him live a new life. Maybe there really is a parallel universe where they won't be together forever, and Eliott just happens to have the crushing misfortune of living in it.

He wanted to tell his mother what happened that night. But then he would have to admit that he's hurt Lucas more than he already has, and that he's upset because he finally knows that Lucas didn't love him as much as he loves Lucas. He finally knows that Lucas probably never loved him like that at all. And he's not only upset, he's afraid. Afraid that he'll come to the same realization that Lucas has. Maybe they really were just two stupid boys who needed more love than they had, so they turned to each other. They fell into each other's arms and crashed into each other's lips because they had nowhere else to go, nowhere else they felt safe taking refuge in. Maybe it all really was some passing fancy, something convenient that they took advantage of the few moments they had it. 

Maybe the love that has driven Eliott his whole life, the love that has shaped him and raised him up into the man he is now, was never truly real.

A part of him is happy this didn't destroy him as much as it could have, but a larger part hates that he's not as upset as he should be. He's practically lost Lucas, his best friend and, dare he say, the love of his life. He should be wailing and gnashing his teeth and pounding his fists into the earth and crying out in anger at God, at fate, at whatever thing has taken almost everything he loves away from him. He should be surging through every day with a hungry, raging flame of anger. Or he should be in such mourning that he fears his eyes will never be dry again. His whole body should heave with his sobs, his mouth should always taste of the bitter salt from his tears, he should feel the strain on his heart, wait in perfect patience for the moment it breaks and he'll finally be free from his pain. He'll forever be known as the boy who died of a broken heart, who died because he loved someone far, far too much. He has a right to feel angry, to be completely shattered. But he doesn't. He's just _tired_. And he doesn't know how to wait for Lucas to reach out to him and tell him that he's ready to talk. He doesn't know how much longer he can be in this depressed, almost apathetic state before it morphs into something worse, something he can't control. He just doesn't _know_.

Him and his mother are eating lunch as his mind is still running rampant, trying to hold back all the feelings of guilt and depression so she won't notice. It's trying to find a solution, too, though it isn't sure which problem it wants to fix. Eliott isn't sure, either. He isn't sure where to begin, or if any solution will actually work. His confusion, his desperation is growing, and he doesn't want it getting out of control. He doesn't want _himself_ to get out of control. Not again. Every time he loses control, he—

"Eliott," his mother begins, her voice soft, a little sad. "I'm thinking about visiting Papa today. Do you want to come with me?"

Eliott looks up, blinking away his reverie. He takes a deep breath as he tries to think about her question. The last time he was there, his father's memory helped him more than he thought it could. And maybe he could tell his father everything that happened. He could tell him the truth about everything, all the truth he never got to tell him when he was still alive. Yes, he won't be able to answer, or give him a hug or tousle his hair, but maybe if Eliott just says the words out loud, he could start feeling better. Maybe.

He nods, giving her a small smile. "I'll come."

She smiles back at him. There's something shining in her eyes, and he can't tell if she's happy or if she's about to cry. "Good," she says, her voice wavering slightly. She clears her throat. "Is it okay if we go once we finish our lunch?"

He nods again. "That's okay."

"I know you've been feeling down again, honey," she continues, still quiet. "And I think this will help you."

Eliott bites his lip, but nods. "I think so, too."

"I love you," she says, reaching across the table and placing her hand on top of his. "You know that, right?"

"I know," he smiles. "I love you, too, Maman."

Eliott doesn't eat much of his lunch, but his mother smiles at him understandingly and offers to wrap it up and save it for later. He smiles back at her and accepts.

"I can make us some tea when we come home," she says as they walk out the front door. "Does that sound good?"

"Sounds good," Eliott agrees. "Thank you, Maman."

"You're welcome, honey," she smiles, kissing him on the cheek. "Ready?"

He nods, and the hum of the engine and the music on the radio is almost soothing as they make their way to the cemetery.

It's a beautiful day, but not quite as beautiful as the day his father died. The air is just a little too humid and stuffy, the wind is a little too harsh, the sun a little too dim. But his father always liked summer. He was rarely sick when it was warm, and he usually felt strong enough to go down to the beach with Eliott and splash around in the water with him. They would go down to the library and read books together, or just wander around the town. His father was so close to seeing another summer, but he was too sick, too weak to live another day. He wonders again if his father's half-open eyes saw one of the most beautiful days France had ever seen before he died. He hopes he did.

He blinks as he hears the engine and the music suddenly cut off. They're here. The cemetery doesn't look nearly as dreary in the broad daylight. Most of the markers are a light, weathered gray, and the grass is a much brighter, healthy green. The eerie silence of the place is interrupted by the soft rustling of leaves, branches in the wind. It's almost beautiful.

He hears his mother unbuckle her seat belt, so he does the same. He takes as many deep breaths as he can. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the idea of only seeing his father in a cemetery, and only seeing his name, and only seeing the two little dates and knowing, in between them, how little time he spent with his father. It's a strange feeling. He always feels a ghost of a shiver running along his spine here, but yet he's filled with a _catharsis_ , a kind of comfort.

He follows his mother to his father's grave, and he sees tears in her eyes. He puts his arm around her, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

They reach his grave, both releasing a heavy sigh. She doesn't weep like she used to. He can hear her sniffle, but he can't feel her trembling. Still, he holds her close, holds her up. He knows she still needs it.

They stand there for a moment, silently mourning. Not very many thoughts have run through Eliott's mind, and he hasn't yet cried a single tear. He only feels that lingering sadness he's felt the past few days, and the pain of it is dull, yet plunging. He hates how he barely feels anything right now.

"Maman," Eliott begins, speaking past the familiar lump in his throat. "Can I talk to Papa? Alone?"

She looks up at him, worry written all over her face. But she smiles. "Okay. I'll be in the car."

"Thank you," he smiles back, enveloping her in a tight hug. 

She pulls away, kissing him on the cheek before walking away.

The cemetery is eerily, eerily quiet before Eliott finds the courage to speak.

"Papa," he begins shakily, taking what feels like his millionth deep breath. "I need to tell you something. I never got the chance to tell you this while you were alive, but," he pauses, trying to taste the words before they come out of his mouth. They taste strange, unfamiliar, but they're _right._ "I'm queer, Papa. I... I don't know if there's a better word to describe it, but I don't think my heart falls in love with just boys, or just girls, or just boys _and_ girls. It just falls in love. It runs rampant and it drags me along and I can't help but listen to it and follow it. And, somewhere along the way, it fell in love with Lucas. I don't know when or why or how it happened, but it did. And, not long before you died, he told me he loved me, too. And then we kissed. And, suddenly, we were calling each other _mon amour_ and finding little places where we could kiss again and fall even deeper in love," Eliott chuckles as a single tear rolls down his cheek. "I wonder if people saw me back then and wondered why I was so happy. And not the happy I am when I'm manic. _Truly_ happy. I've never been so happy in my life, Papa, I swear it. I didn't even need to be around him to be so _beyond_ happy. I just had to say his name, or picture him in my mind, and my heart would _soar_. I was in _love_ , Papa, I _am_ in love," His smiles, his laughs disappear. "But he's angry with me. Or, he was. I'm not sure. When I first came home he was. He was angry because of what I did before I had to go to the institution. And he didn't talk to me for weeks, and he started talking to me again the other day at his birthday party. But he doesn't want to talk about anything that happened before. I think he's hoping I'll just forgive him and then we'll never have to talk about any of that again. He... He feels _so much_ but he refuses to let it show on his face. He refuses to let other people see it. He refuses to tell anyone about it. He's stubborn and he bottles everything up and then he lashes out and then he realizes how much he can hurt people and he hates being reminded of that, of how powerful his words are, how sharp his tongue is. And... I don't know how to help him. He's worse than he was when we were younger. And I know in the back of my mind that I'm probably the reason why he's gotten worse, but I don't know how to help him. He won't tell me how. I know every inch of him except for his mind. His skull might as well be empty for me. I can't figure him out anymore. And I think he's given up on figuring me out, too. And... he's engaged now, and he says he never loved me the way I loved him. And when he said that, I think it confirmed everything I was already thinking, and I was okay with it. I accepted it. Well, parts of it. I don't think I could ever forget how _happy_ he made me. That's the part I can't seem to accept. If he didn't love me the way I loved him, why did that make me so _happy_? Why did I take his little crumbs of affection and let my smile spread and let my heart fall in love with him? I just... I'm afraid that this is really where we grow apart. I'm afraid that universe is branching off into other universes and we're on completely different paths. And, if we are, if that's what's happening, wouldn't it be my fault? I chose to try to take myself away from him, and now he's made his choice, too, I think. I don't know what to do, Papa."

He knows his father couldn't answer, but when the silence comes back, unsettling and snaking underneath his skin, it makes the lump in his throat break open in a strangled sob. He breathes, slowly, rubbing at his eyes. He breathes, breathes. He walks away, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. He breathes again, as slowly as he can. He calms himself down, leaving himself with that lingering, prickly sadness that's been haunting him for days.

He hopes he doesn't look like he's been crying as much as he has been when he reaches the car and climbs into his seat.

"Are you okay, honey?" his mother asks almost immediately. "You look like you've been crying."

He nods, taking another deep breath. "I just miss Papa."

It's not a lie, but his father isn't the only person he misses so much he feels like he could burst.

"We'll get you home and I'll make you that tea I promised," she replies, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Would that make you feel better?"

Eliott nods again, smiling a little. "It would."

His mother doesn't try and talk to him as they drive home, which he appreciates, but it's still a little too quiet for his taste. He turns up the radio a bit, even though he isn't particularly fond of the song that's playing. The day is still beautiful, his sadness still haunts him, Lucas is still quiet and distant, his mother is still far kinder than he deserves, and his father is still dead. Everything has changed, but in this moment, nothing has.

They arrive home, and Eliott sits at the table as his mother makes tea. He looks out the window, towards the water, watching the waves lap and froth and imagining the music they must be making. He still hasn't gone swimming since he came home, but whenever he entertains the idea, something holds him back. Lucas can't come with him, and neither can his father. The last time he went swimming alone was when he tried to let the waves crash over him and sweep him away. He's not afraid of the water, not like Lucas is now, but he supposes he's at least wary of it now. Maybe, if Lucas really does want them to be friends again and tries to fix things between them, they can go swimming like they used to. They could wade out, little by little, so Lucas doesn't get too scared, and the chilly sting of the water will wash all of Eliott's bad memories away. Couldn't they?

The kettle boils, and the waves seem to calm.

He turns his gaze back towards his mother, who began to pour the water into their mugs. He smiles at her gratefully as she hands him his, chuckling when she reminds him that the tea will be hot.

"So," she begins, setting Eliott ever so slightly on edge. "What did you tell Papa about?"

Eliott sighs, bobbing his teabag above and below the water. He decides to tell the truth, at least a piece of it. "Lucas."

"Have you heard from him again at all?" she asks carefully, adding sugar to her tea.

Eliott shakes his head. "Not at all."

"You're sure you don't want me to talk to him or Madeleine?" she asks again.

Eliott nods. "He'll talk to me when he's ready."

"It's been almost a month since you came back, honey," she replies. "What's holding him back?"

"He has his own life now, Maman," he shrugs. "One that I probably need to stop intruding on. I don't think he wants me in it."

"Why wouldn't he want you there with him?" she asks, almost frustrated. "You two have spent almost your whole lives together. You go away for two years, and suddenly he doesn't want you around anymore? It doesn't make sense."

"I told you what he said," he sighs, putting his tea off to the side. He's still not angry. He's just still _tired_. "It wasn't the two years that I was gone. It's the reason _why_ I was gone for two years. It's because I tried to kill myself."

The words fall from his mouth so quickly it makes him feel sick to his stomach. It makes the color drain from his mother's face. It makes a tense silence fall between them.

"I'm..." Eliott chokes out. "I'm sorry, Maman. It's just that I can't undo what I tried to do that night. I can't unwrite those letters I wrote, or unthink the thoughts that made me want to try in the first place. I can't unmake Lucas's anger. And I don't think I can unbreak our friendship. He'll patch a hole in it then move on and never look back like he always does if he decides to talk to me again."

"Honey," his mother starts, but the word dies in her throat and she doesn't say anything else.

He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. "I wish he would just talk to me and tell me he just doesn't want to be friends anymore so I can stop hoping and wishing that things will go back to the way they were. No matter how much things keep changing right in front of me, a part of me still keeps imagining a world I remember, a world that's kind to me. I wish he would tell me if he's going to kill it or nurture it. It's tearing me apart. _He's_ tearing me apart."

She doesn't know what to say. He can tell from the way she purses her lips and the way she can't quite look him in the eye.

"It's okay," he tells her. "I wouldn't know what to say to me, either."

She sighs, lightly tapping her fingers on the table. "Maybe you could write everything you're feeling? Or maybe draw?"

Eliott shrugs, but the idea flows easily into his mind and lifting his spirits, if only slightly.

"You haven't drawn in a while, haven't you?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "I gave Lucas a drawing for his birthday, but I don't think I've drawn anything like I used to since Papa died."

"Do you want to try it? We can go and buy some supplies," she proposes, hope in her eyes.

He nods. "I'll try it."

* * *

_july 20th, 1968_

_01:11_

_caen, france_

~

As much as Eliott believes drawing will help him, he's had to work up the courage to simply pick up the new charcoal pencils his mother bought him yesterday, let alone put them to paper. His mind is full, as always. Full of emotions, memories, ideas of what to draw, ideas of what he would say to Lucas whenever he's ready to talk. if he didn't know better, he would've thought he was in another mania based on his scattered mind alone. If he was in a mania, the thoughts would've pushed him, urged him forward as he followed every wit that crossed his mind. But his thoughts are suffocating him, backing him into a dark corner. His mind seems to be teetering on a fine line between mania and depression, and it reminds him of the day he tried to take his own life. And that terrifies him.

He remembers someone saying that when anniversaries of traumatic events arrive, people's emotions are heightened to a frightening degree. Anxiety, depression, fear, despair. Today marks two years since Lucas's drowning, and two days from now will be two years since Eliott's suicide attempt. He hates how close together two of the worst days of his life are, but things were so different back then. Eliott was frightened, desperate, traumatized. Lucas was dead for the longest, most frightening ten minutes Eliott could imagine. How could he ever forget that? How could he ever recover from knowing that beloved body was ever lifeless? How could he chase away the frightening possibility that Lucas's heart stopped before Eliott could cling to him and swim desperately to shore? How could he live knowing that Lucas's drowning was all his fault?

Last year, Eliott's mental state while he was at the institution was deteriorating rapidly, and the anniversary coincided with another failed medication trial. He spent the anniversary of Lucas's drowning with the bit in his mouth and the shocks ripping through his brain, and he spent the anniversary of his suicide attempt still reeling from the shocks, too weak and disoriented to spend too much time dwelling on remembering. He doesn't want to spend the anniversaries this year in that same situation, but his terror only grows at the thought of having to deal with it with a somewhat clear mind.

And how _Lucas_ must have felt, must feel. All because of Eliott.

He shakes his head, shakes away the memories, the possibilities, the blame. He looks back down at his new sketchbook, feels the chalky charcoal rub smoothly against his fingertips. He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes slowly close.

_Breathe. Create. Forget. Just for a minute or two._

He opens his eyes, and he touches the charcoal to the page, letting his mind control his hand. Whatever's on his mind, it'll speak in tones of dark black or faded gray. The picture will be black and white, but Eliott's heart will provide all the color.

* * *

_may 27th, 1966_

_19:47_

_caen, france_

~

_The sun is setting, kissing the water and making it blush a fierce gold as Lucas kisses Eliott softly, gingerly on a rippling sea of wrinkled bedsheets. Their legs are tangled together, and their foreheads touch and their noses tickle against each other. Lucas weaves his hand through Eliott's hair, wrapping the occasional strand around his finger if he finds a small curl. Eliott can feel Lucas's eyes on him, but he's staring at the little mole on his neck, the dip of his collarbone, how his skin turns into something like honey in the light of the setting sun._

_"He'll be okay, Ellie," Lucas finally says, still the softest, kindest thing that ever sang in Eliott's ear. "He'll get better."_

_"It's different this time," Eliott mumbles, fidgeting with the collar of Lucas's shirt. "He's never been this sick before. Never. I'm just waiting for Maman to call and tell me that he's dying, or that he's already dead. It could be any minute now."_

_"She won't," Lucas replies, kissing the tip of Eliott's nose. "He has some of the best doctors in the country looking after him. They'll make him good as new."_

_"My papa's been sick my whole life, Lu," Eliott shakes his head, tears filling his eyes. "Every time he gets really sick or he goes to the hospital, all I ever hear is that he'll get better. Someday they're bound to be wrong. Someday he'll be too sick and the doctors won't be able to save him."_

_"He's not too sick," Lucas reassures, but his voice is thin, almost breaking. "He's not too far gone."_

_"You keep saying that," Eliott says, finally looking up at Lucas. He sees something in Lucas's eyes he rarely sees; pity._

_"How could I tell you that your papa might die?" Lucas sighs, closing his eyes. He shakes his head, opening his eyes again and gazing at Eliott with that same pity. "I know what it's like to lose a father, but not like this."_

_"You don't have to tell me," Eliott replies. "And you don't have to try and tell me things you don't believe."_

_Lucas is quiet, biting his lip and avoiding Eliott's gaze. Ever so quietly, he says, "I know."_

_"Lucas," Eliott begins, taking a deep breath. "Hold me. Please. Hold me until this is all over."_

_The corner of Lucas's mouth turns up into a sad, half-smile. "Okay."_

_Eliott manages to smile back as he cuddles closer to Lucas, resting his head on his chest. He feels Lucas's arms enfold him, holding him tightly yet softly. He feels Lucas kiss and whisper into his hair, feels his thumb gently caress his arm. He listens to Lucas's heartbeat, feels the soft cotton of his shirt brush against his cheek, smells his salt and his sleep, and he prays that somehow, Lucas is right._

_Lucas's breaths start evening out, and his heartbeat slows. Eliott looks up and sees that his eyes are closed, and that his lips are parted ever so slightly. Lucas could always fall asleep so easily, and Eliott always envied him for it. But he smiles, kissing the tip of Lucas's nose, his forehead. He doesn't stir, and he snores quietly._

_Eliott watches him for a moment, studies the way his long eyelashes fan against his cheek and are lengthened by their own shadows. He watches the small strands of hair falling over his forehead drift on the breeze from the open window, from Lucas's breathing. Lucas smiles, ever so slightly, in his sleep, and he sighs contentedly._

He's so beautiful, _Eliott thinks._ How did I ever deserve him?

_Eliott carefully pulls himself away from Lucas's hold, finding his bag and pulling out his sketchbook and pencils. He climbs back onto the bed, still careful about waking Lucas. He starts drawing Lucas's head, etching out every sleepy line in his face, every messy strand of his hair. He draws the sloping line of his neck, the hills and valleys of his shoulders, the slightest curve at his waist. He draws his open hand resting by his face, his fingers slightly curled and his palms almost completely shadowed. He tries to draw all the little fibers he can see in Lucas's shirt, chasing the hems and trying to reign in every loose thread._

_He stops drawing for a moment, wishing he had a colored pencil that matched the shade of Lucas's skin in this light, and what such a color could be called; pale honey, ambrosia, euphoria, tenderness. He tries to commit the color to memory, the perfect blend of oranges and yellows and dusty pinks. His grin widens at the thought that maybe, if the world is kind to them, Eliott will see this color over and over again. That he'll see the love of his life look so heavenly every day, and be reminded again and again that Lucas is his, and that he is Lucas's. That he'll fall deeper and deeper in love until he forgets what it's like to live in a world where his soul wanders aimless, alone. He offers up another prayer that, like they say, thoughts will become words, and words will become actions, and that actions will become habits. For Lucas is the most addicting and yet satisfying habit Eliott could ever have._

_His heart sinks, just a little, as he studies his drawing. It's beautiful, but not as beautiful as Lucas truly is. His heart sinks, just a little further, as he imagines people thinking Lucas is one of the most beautiful people they've ever seen, without ever seeing him like Eliott does._

_He leaves his sketchbook on Lucas's nightstand, carefully crawling back into his arms. But Lucas stirs, and his eyes slowly blink open. He smiles when he sees Eliott, tilting his head down to kiss him again. Eliott kisses him back, hoping Lucas can taste the love that fills his chest and presses against his seams, the love that only appears as long as Lucas lives, breathes, sings._

_"Why'd you get out of bed?" Lucas asks, his voice deep and crackling._

_"I drew you," Eliott replies. "While the sunlight was still shining on you."_

_"You did?" Lucas grins, tracing Eliott's cheekbone with his thumb gingerly._

_Eliott nods, grinning back at him. "I did."_

_"You'll have to show me when I'm less sleepy," Lucas says, kissing Eliott again. It's soft, slow, smiling lips against smiling lips. "I love you so much."_

_Eliott feels his heart glowing, bursting. He kisses him a little deeper, a little harder, making the smallest moan rumble from Lucas's throat. Eliott slows then, breaking away for a moment before kissing him again, gently, patiently. Lucas melts into him. They stop for breath, almost chuckling at each other out of pure joy._

_"_ _I love you, too,"_ _Eliott says against Lucas's lips. "More than anything."_

_They become like the waves against the shore, their lungs harmonizing in slow, sweet sighs. They hold each other, their bodies fitting together and clinging as tightly as they can. They slowly fall back asleep, braving the darkness they're entering together. The wind flows through the window, gathering their secrets and vowing that they'll keep them, falling silent and dying in the sky's throat. The moon is still bright, her freckled face smiling sadly as she watches them, knowing all the threads of the universe and knowing how they all tie together. She whispers, sings, "All is well. There is a calm after the storm, a peace after the war, a warmth and a comfort when burning heat fades away. Brave through, my darlings. To be brave is to be alive, to be well. All I ask is that you remember, still, to be gentle all the while."_

_The Lallemants' phone rings._

* * *

_july 20th, 1968_

_10:17_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wakes with a jolt from a dreamless sleep. The sun is well on its way through the sky, its rays almost completely lighting up his room. He sits up, fighting against his head and heart weighing him down to his bed. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his skull. He looks down at the floor, where his small binder of drawings lies open. On the left hand side is the drawing he made of Lucas while he was sleeping, the last serious drawing he ever did before his father died. The pencil markings are weathered slightly, the page stained a pale, pale yellow. On the right hand side is the drawing he did a few hours ago, another of Lucas, but the way he looked the moment he opened the door and saw Eliott there. Eliott reaches down and picks it up, studying it more closely. 

Lucas's mouth gapes open slightly, highlighting his cheekbones and his jawline, exposing his teeth. His eyebrows are raised, curtained behind stray locks of his hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are wide, sparkling with something like shock, despair, confusion, realization, recognition. Eliott still hasn't figured out what that something is, or what he can call it, but he thinks he'll never be able to forget it. It should've struck him to his core. It should've warned him that something was wrong, that something was different. But he didn't see it, then. He was too blinded by Lucas, by the future he thought they could have together, loving each other like they used to. 

Eliott briefly entertains the idea of what could've happened if he had listened to that ghost in Lucas's eyes, if he had just walked away right then and there. He wonders which is worse: knowing Lucas is angry and knowing the distance that's growing between them is all his fault, or not knowing why Lucas is upset and letting their friendship fall apart, wither away naturally. Which _is_ worse? Animosity, or ignorance?

He sighs deeply, putting the drawing back in his binder. He wants to reach out to Lucas today, somehow. He probably won't try and talk to him, not yet. Maybe a letter?

Eliott tears a blank sheet from his sketchbook and moves over to his desk. His hand hovers over the page as a thousand words flit across his mind, as he tries to catch the ones that feel right. He starts writing.

_Lucas,_

_I've been thinking about you, and us, and everything that went wrong. And you were right. I was selfish. I was foolish. I was a boy. I was sick. I'm still sick. My sickness will never go away, no matter how many shocks they gave me, and no matter how many times I scream and pray for it to leave me alone. It hurts people and sometimes I can't stop it. It's hurt you so many times._ I've _hurt you so many times._

_I was sick that day. A dizzy, euphoric sick. I was in love with you. And your name, your face mingled with my mania and it took me higher than I've ever been before. I couldn't imagine being away from you for even a second. So, I woke up at dawn and bounced around my room and thought about all the things we could do together as I got dressed. Then I went over to your window and woke you up, and we raced each other down the street until we couldn't breathe and our sides were aching. Do you remember us finding almost every alley and kissing until our lips started turning blue? Do you remember me dragging you to almost every shop and promising to buy you anything you wanted? Do you remember that whole morning, the beginning of that afternoon? To be honest, all of that is a little hazy for me. All I remember is you. Your smiles, your laughs, your breathing, the taste of your lips, the feeling of your skin. All I really remember is you._

_But what I really remember is when we got to the beach. I'll remember that hour as long as I live. I'll remember those ten minutes as long as I live. But everything I felt then is nothing compared to what you went through. I'll never try to understand it, because I don't think I ever could. But what I do understand is that you never would've gone through what you did if it weren't for me. If I hadn't been sick, or if I had been able to control it, or if I wasn't so attached to you, or if I didn't love you as much as I did, you would've never known what death tastes like, or seen his dark, inky face, or felt his cool, welcoming embrace._

_You told me the day I came home that you don't go near the water anymore because it reminds you of me. It doesn't remind you of dying. You're not afraid of drowning again. It reminds you of me. I took that away from you. I took all the memories of splashing in the water, and watching the waves breathe against the shore, and I tainted them, darkened them before your very eyes. I almost let the water take you. I almost let it take me, too. The water consumes, erodes, strangles. Just like I do._

_I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't blame you for not being ready to talk. Take all the time you need, Lucas. Live your life a little more. See what it's like without me. See if you're happier. Because you deserve all the happiness in the world, Lucas. You deserve to breathe every particle of it, swim in every drop of it. And you deserve even more than that. You deserve_ love _. Dizzying, breathless, heart-racing_ love _. I don't know if I can give that to you. I think I've given you all the love I have. I want you to decide if it's enough, even though you deserve so, so much more. I've told you before that I'll be waiting for you, and I still will, but if you decide you need to walk away, I will, too. I'll stop waiting, and I'll let you find the happiness and love you deserve. I won't blame you. How could I? Maybe Chloé really is the love of your life, and maybe she can be the one to give you everything you deserve. I won't blame you for that either. How could I?_

 _I feel that I'm full of hope, Lucas. A part of me hopes that I can learn how to control this sickness, figure out its warning signs, its weaknesses. Another part hopes that my touch and my heart will soften, and that my mind and tongue will calm. But there's a third, larger part that hopes for nothing short of the best for you. It hopes that no more of your tears will be shed unnecessarily, that your mind will never worry for another unnecessary second, and that your heart will_ glow _as brightly as it can until it must dim and flicker out. And may your heart live as long as it can. May it bleed scarlet and passion and loyalty. May it sing with all its voice. May it guide you down any dark, winding path and carry you every step of the way. May it love so fiercely that it may burst, but it's not afraid to. And may you hold it, nurture it. May you_ live _._

_Yours,_

_Eliott_

He sighs deeply as he sets his pen down, reading over his words again. He's exhausted, and his heart _aches_ , but it feels right. He folds it and places it in an envelope carefully. His hands starts shaking again as he writes Lucas's name, and he hopes he'll recognize his handwriting. He seals the envelope, the lingering sadness he's felt for days dulling, numbing. He takes another deep, deep breath and leaves his room, walking down the stairs to deliver the letter to the Lallemants' mailbox.

"Where are you going, honey?" his mother asks from the kitchen, looking up from her bowl of cereal.

"I'm taking this to the Lallemants'," he replies, not waiting for her response. He tells her that he'll be right back as he closes the front door behind him. 

The sun is still shining brightly, but he can see dark, looming clouds peeking over the horizon. The waves are loud today, crashing against the shore with a shout, a cry. It's hot, stuffy. He picks up his pace, almost jogging to the Lallemants' mailbox.

He opens the slightly rusted mailbox, its creaking grating against his ears. He winces, then shoves the letter inside. But the sadness starts to come back, slowly, just beneath his skin as he does. He shuts the mailbox and hurries back home, the sun shining brighter and the waves crashing louder and the heat becoming unbearable. 

He stumbles as he walks up the porch steps, and he lets himself fall, exhausted. Tears are suddenly spilling out of his eyes, and there's a strong, familiar weight crushing his chest. He hugs himself, rocking back and forth as the tears become loud, choking sobs. His mother must've heard him, because he suddenly feels her arms wrap around him.

"What's wrong?" she asks through her tears. "My baby boy..."

He wails into her shoulder, feeling his heart shattering slowly, slowly into pieces as the acceptance becomes _full_ , filling his chest and nearly stopping his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed this, as always, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment if you feel comfortable! every kudos, comment, hit, and bookmark truly means the world to me.
> 
> also, good news, i've finished up all my classes for this current semester so i should have a lot more time to work on this fic! i know updates have been fairly sporadic so far, but i'm hoping to get a lot more done now.
> 
> i hope y'all are all still safe and healthy, and i hope you're all having a good day/night/week!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ottelis (i changed my url the other day oops) for updates on this story and more skam and remakes related content!!


	6. 05—eliott, alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott struggles as the anniversary of his suicide attempt arrives / Eliott opens up to his mother / A visitor arrives for Eliott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: references to suicide attempts and suicidal ideation
> 
> another shorter one! i really should've combined this chapter with the last one but it's too late now. i still hope you enjoy it! this chapter will be a bit heavier, so please be safe! i'll have a brief summary of the chapter in the end notes if you need it!

_july 22nd, 1968_

_05:34_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott hasn't slept a wink; his whole body is heavy but his eyelids aren't. He hasn't felt well since his panic attack the other day, and it's only gotten worse as the anniversary of his attempt has drawn nearer. He swears his mood crashed as soon as the clock struck midnight. He swears that the night grew darker, that the shadows in his room grew larger, that the moon began to hide her face, that the whisperings in his mind grew colder, more menacing. His blood has run cold ever since. His body has curled in on itself, his sight has been ever so slightly out of focus, his teeth have dug into his lip, his skin has been riddled with goosebumps. He's silently cried out to the wind whispering outside, the crickets singing, the waves sighing, but they haven't responded to him. He screams, wails, but they're drowned out by the music of the night that has rarely been sweet to his ear.

So he's left to suffer in silence as that night plays over and over again. He watches himself reorganize his bookshelf over and over, every possible arrangement never making him feel better, whole. He watches himself write so furiously in his notebook he's puncturing and tearing the pages, hoping that writing down his thoughts will make them go away. He watches himself pace around his room, tearing out his hair, biting off his nails, chewing on the collar of his shirt to keep himself from crying out and disturbing his mother. He watches himself melt into a puddle, crying so hard he can barely breathe. He watches realization fill his eyes as he thinks about how could easily he could end all his pain. He watches himself dry his eyes, take a deep breath, then write two letters: one for his mother, one for Lucas. He watches himself leave the letters on his mother's nightstand, on Lucas's windowsill. He watches himself walk forward on the shore, the waves lapping at his ankles, then his knees, then his chest, then his mouth. He hears, so distantly and yet so clearly, Lucas call his name. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, covers his ears, but it does nothing. He can't escape it. 

Tears slip out of the corners of his eyes, but no sobs rip out of his sore throat. It's a quiet, defeated crying; tired, resigned. It doesn't shake his shoulders, or make his heart and lungs quiver. He's frozen, and the only thing he can really feel is the tears on his face. He can feel the salt carve out little trails on his face, chip away at his cheekbones, hollow out his cheeks, burn in the cuts in his lips from his teeth, fill his nostrils until he almost can't remember what fresh air smells like. Perhaps he's become the sea—salty, eroding, despondent, _crashing_. Perhaps he's flooding his room, rising until he destroys the house and finds its way to the water outside. Perhaps he's returning to that fatal idea he had two years ago—becoming one with the water, becoming at least one drop in the ocean. 

He takes the deepest breath he can. He's not going to do something like that again. Not when it only caused more pain than he could've ever anticipated. He can stay in his room, stay in his bed, and try and calm his tears before they flood. Then he'll be okay. _He'll be okay._

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, hoping it will somehow force the tears back behind his eyes, back into the lump in his throat. He keeps breathing, keeps forcing. Keeps breathing, keeps forcing. _He'll be okay._

He pulls his hands away, and his already fuzzy vision is covered in bruises. Purple and green sunspots, wide and growing and smarting. They begin to fade after a few minutes of waiting and trying to blink it away. Their edges start melting into the real world, and they're tinged with yellow. Then they disappear. _He'll be okay._

He sighs, trying to focus on the feeling of his lungs filling and emptying, watching his own chest rise and fall. He holds his breath to feel that burn, that panic deep in his lungs and the dizzy alarm in his mind. He experiments with lengths of inhales and exhales, listening to the sound of the air escaping. He tries to tell himself that he's not a waste of air, and that he's grateful for every gulp he gets, no matter how big or small. He's not sure if it works. But breathing is a good distraction. It's slow. And he can control it. And it helps his mind and heart slow down. It makes his eyelids a little heavy, then heavier and heavier. _He'll be okay. He has to be._

He finally, _finally_ drifts into a deep, but dreamless sleep. 

* * *

_july 22nd, 1968_

_10:30_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wakes to the gentlest shaking from his mother. His eyes open slowly, and his vision is clear again. He sees his mother kneeling by his bed, her tired yet kind face smiling at him feebly.

"I'm sorry to wake you up, honey," she says, her voice quiet and sweet. "But I wanted to check up on you. Are you okay?"

"No," he answers quietly. "But I think I'll be okay if I just stay in here. I'm safe here."

She sighs, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Her hand is shaking. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. Call me from up here or come downstairs if you find me. I'll be there."

He manages a weak smile. "Thank you, Maman."

"I love you," she tells him, her thumb wiping away a tear he didn't know escaped his eye. "I love you more than I can comprehend."

Eliott wants to tell her that he loves her, too, but the words can't get around the lump in his throat.

"I wish I could take all this away from you," she adds, her voice suddenly thick with tears. "If I could drag the sun and moon across the sky so today could be over in the blink of an eye, I would. You know that, right?"

"I know," he chokes out, his tears beginning to pour faster.

"Do you want me to stay in here with you?" she asks. "So you don't have to be alone today?"

_The brain is alone. I'll be alone regardless. Even when your fingertips brush my forehead, I can't quite feel it. It's like some other body is feeling it for me._

He sighs, shaking his head. "I'll be okay. I have my books. I have all my art supplies. I just need to wear through the day. I just need to wait it out."

"And you can start healing again," she says with a wobbly smile.

"I still haven't felt any of that healing yet, Maman," Eliott admits, his voice even quieter and weaker. "Maybe I've felt it for a second, but I swear every time I get close to it, something else happens and I don't feel it anymore." He chokes on the last few words, drowned out by a sob. "And... I don't think I healed at the institution. Not like I needed to."

He sees tears rolling down his mother's cheeks, and it only makes him cry harder. He's broken her heart again. His poor, sweet, lonely maman...

"I'm sorry, Maman," he sobs, throwing his arms around her and pulling her close. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't apologize, honey," she whispers in his ear. "You don't need to."

He bites back his argument, trying to hold onto his mother more tightly, trying to let out every single tear stinging his eyes and stopping his throat. He tries to push back the same thoughts he had two years ago. He tries to be better, to be well. He _tries_.

He doesn't know how long he cried in his mother's arms, and he doesn't remember falling asleep again.

* * *

_july 22nd, 1968_

_17:17_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wakes to the light of the setting sun filtering into his room. He doesn't feel that intense, debilitating sadness he did before, but he feels _fatigued_. He hopes he can just fall back asleep until morning, and then the day will finally be over. He'll be okay.

_I'll be okay._

He sits up slowly, taking in the golden light that's surrounding him. It's beautiful, comforting. A step closer to night, and a step closer to day. He holds out his hand, watching the light color and warm his skin. But then he can't help but think of the color of Lucas's skin that day, the day before his father died. He thinks of Lucas's skin the day he drowned, soaking wet and deathly pale and quickly losing its heat. He thinks of Lucas's skin the first time he touched it in almost two years, soft but almost unfamiliar, a little cooler than usual. He thinks of what would happen if he touched Lucas again, even if it was an innocent, accidental brush of fingertips. He wonders if the day he came home will be the last memory his skin has of Lucas, memories of shaking hands and trembling lips.

He moves his hand away, returning it to the shadows; to the cold and the dark. He sighs and rests his head against the wall, letting his eyes close. Of course his thoughts come back to Lucas. Of course once his intense, frightening emotions subside, his heart calls out to Lucas for comfort. Of course. When his tears dried after he left the hospital when his father died, he tapped on Lucas's window and fell into his arms. When he turned around as the waves were about to take him, his whole _body_ told him to go to Lucas and hold onto him and never let go. When the daze from the shocks would finally fade away, he would spend hours in his room staring at Lucas's picture and writing him more letters. When those two long years of being at the institution passed, he dreamt of meeting Lucas again and scooping him up in his arms and kissing him until the world ended. And when he's almost weathered another anniversary, another year, he remembers Lucas and worries himself to death if memories will be all he has left of him.

He startles when he hears the doorbell ring, his eyes flying open. He sighs, closing his eyes again and lying back down. He's sure it's one of his mother's friends, or some sort of salesperson. He hears their front door open, and he hears windchimes and the waves—

_Lucas._

Eliott's breath catches in his throat, his heart suddenly racing.

_Lucas!_

He quickly climbs out of his bed, throwing his door open and rushing down the stairs. He can see the light spilling onto the floor from the open window, and he sees a familiar shadow stand out against it.

_Lucas!_

He reaches the bottom of the stairs, and he finally looks up and sees him.

Lucas visibly tenses when he locks eyes with Eliott, quickly averting his gaze to the floor. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and his lower lip trembles the slightest bit. He looks so much _younger_ , like he was a scared, little 16-year-old boy again. It reminds Eliott of the way Lucas used to act around him right before they kissed for the first time. Lucas was a nervous wreck, had been betrayed by his own heart. Eliott remembers Lucas telling him all the horrible things he felt back then, and he feels a deep twinge in his chest that he might have made Lucas feel that way again, that's he's hurt him _again_. 

Lucas looks up at him then, his face neutral but with a world, a nightmare behind his eyes. "Eliott," he says, his name quiet and sweet slipping off Lucas's tongue. He takes a breath, nods once, then barely smiles as he says, "I'm ready."

Eliott hears his mother say something, then hears her darting up the stairs, but all his attention is focused on Lucas. 

There's a spark, and for a moment, Lucas and Eliott are both filled with memory—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> summary: eliott can't sleep and is being bombarded with memories of his suicide attempt, but manages to fall asleep. a few hours later, his mother shakes him awake and asks him carefully, kindly if he's okay. he says no, but he reassures her that he'll be okay if he stays in his room for the day. she smiles sadly and tells him that then he can start healing again. he tells her he doesn't think he's healed at all, not like he's needed to. he begins to cry and she holds him until he falls asleep. he wakes up around sunset, feeling more fatigued than sad. then, his mother calls him and tells him that lucas is at their door. eliott rushes downstairs, and sure enough, lucas is standing there. lucas says he's ready to talk.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter! feel free to give kudos or write a comment if you feel comfortable!
> 
> next chapter is going to be very long and very intense so it will probably take me a while to write it, but im going to try my best to get it done asap! i can't believe we're already almost halfway through this story :(
> 
> hope you're all still staying safe and healthy, and i hope you're all having a good day/night/week!!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ottelis to see more skam/remakes related content and for updates on this story!!


	7. 06—memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The play is memory. Being a memory play, it is dimly lighted, it is sentimental... In memory everything seems to happen to music..."
> 
> -The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: manic and depressive episodes, internalized homophobia, minor character death, major character death, suicidal thoughts, and a suicide attempt
> 
> this chapter will only consist of memories from both lucas and eliott (that explains the quote in the summary). lucas's memories are in italics, and eliott's memories are in regular type. i'm so sorry it took so long to write this but as i said in my last author's note, this chapter is VERY long (27k words oops) and VERY intense. i couldn't fit a summary in the end notes, so im just gonna put here which parts of the chapter apply to certain content
> 
> manic and depressive episodes: december 25th, 10:21; december 26th, 3:00; january 9th, 10:17; july 20th, 06:00-14:16; july 22nd, 04:09  
> internalized homophobia: april 11th, 18:30; briefly in july 22nd, 05:44  
> minor character death: may 29th, 02:01-06:43; june 4th, 12:02  
> major character death: july 20th, 16:22-23:32  
> suicidal thoughts: july 22nd, 04:09  
> suicide attempt: july 22nd, 05:44
> 
> please please stay safe while you read this chapter. i tried not to go into too much detail but the very nature of this chapter is going to be triggering. please let me know if you need anything and i'll be more than happy to help you out <3

_december 25th, 1965_

_10:21_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wakes that Christmas morning feeling happier than he's felt in a long while. It wasn't that he was unhappy before, it was that he felt _lighter_ now. But it _is_ Christmas, a holiday he's always held close to his heart. He never received many gifts, but the few he received were always meaningful. He loved opening his presents and giving his parents as big of a hug as he can. Christmas was _warmth,_ and _love_ . It was seeing his mother's eyes light up when he opens his presents. It was hearing his father's soft, kind voice tell him about how they decided to pick that present out for him, and all the things he could do with it. It was the fire gently crackling in the fireplace. It was dinner at the Lallemants' house, sitting with Lucas and talking about the presents they got and what all happened that day. It was Lucas playing Christmas songs on his piano with everyone singing at the top of their lungs around him. It was going to sleep that night feeling perfectly content and full. It was closeness, intimacy, safety. It was _joy_.

Eliott makes his way down the stairs, already able to smell the _pain au chocolat_ his mother is making. He smiles, breathing in the smell of warm pastry and bitter chocolate. He _knows_ this will be the best Christmas he's had in a long while.

"Eliott, my boy," his father chuckles. "Merry Christmas!"

Eliott looks over and sees him placing the last of the presents under the Christmas tree. Eliott grins and bounds over to him, giving him a tight hug. "Merry Christmas, Papa."

His father laughs as he hugs him back. "Go tell your mother 'merry Christmas' now, son."

Eliott turns and goes to the kitchen, kissing his mother on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Maman."

"Merry Christmas, Ellie," she returns, ruffling his hair. "You're awake just on time. Breakfast will be ready in just a second. Then we can open all our presents."

"Great!" Eliott beams, giving her another kiss on the cheek. He steps back as she pulls the _pain au chocolat_ out of the oven, the pastry golden and steaming. He excitedly takes his place at the table, already piling food onto his plate. His father takes his place, too, chuckling as Eliott shovels food into his mouth.

"Slow down, Eliott, you'll choke," he cautions through his laughter. "We can't have you dying on Christmas day."

Eliott laughs, too, listening to his father and slowing down. He savors the way the _pain au chocolat_ melts in his mouth, the way the freshly brewed coffee warms his belly, the way his parents talk to each other with so much love and care. 

"I'm happy," he says, not quite blurting it out but not meaning to say it aloud. 

His parents are silent for a moment, but then they both grin. He thinks he sees tears in his mother's eyes, tears of joy. He feels his father pat his hand on his shoulder, and his heart _glows_.

"We're happy, too, son," he replies, his voice ever soft and ever kind. "We're a happy family, aren't we?"

Eliott nods, smiling so wide his cheeks are aching. "We are."

They finish their breakfast in a comfortable, almost musical silence. Eliott feels content, almost like he's fuzzy at his edges, like he's bleeding into the world around him but it's welcoming him into its arms. Like he's fading into a background. Like he's living in a picture, but he knows every shade of every color, every shadow and its shape, every face and all its beauty. The world is beautiful, and he _belongs_ in it. It could be _his_ if he wanted it to be. He could bring everyone he loves along with him. His parents, Lucas. They could be in his picture with him and they could see the world the way he sees it. Wouldn't that be _wonderful_?

Eliott's excitement only grows as they start opening presents. He picks up the gift he can recognize first; a crisp, clean sketchbook. He flips through the blank pages, imagining all the things he could fill it with. He could create a comic book and put all the drawings and dialogue in here, or do a series of portraits or landscapes. He loves new sketchbooks and all the possibilities they hold within them, only waiting to be seen and realized. He goes through it four or five times, listening to the pages shuffle against each other. He doesn't quite pay attention to the presents his parents are opening, but he knows his father got a new pair of pants for work and his mother got a new book that had come out recently. He waits patiently but excitedly for his next turn so he can open his other gift, the one he can't tell what it is just by looking at it.

Finally, it's his turn again, and he notices his parents giving each other a sly, almost ecstatic look. "What are these faces for?" he asks, chuckling.

"This is a really big present, honey," his mother replies, grinning at him. "Your father and I scrounged up just enough money for this one."

Eliott's eyes widen, and he looks back at his father to see if he'll give anything away. He just shrugs, stretching his hand out a little. "You won't know what it is until you open it."

Eliott grins, tearing open the wrapping paper and the small box inside of it. His mouth drops open.

"A camera?" he asks, awed. "Like Arthur has?"

Both his parents nod at him, smiling like he's never seen them smile before.

"But these are so expensive," Eliott continues, shaking his head. "You didn't have to spend so much money on me."

"You were just so excited when Arthur let you take some pictures with his camera," his father replies. "We knew we had to get you one."

Eliott grins, studying the buttons and gears on the camera. He studies the film canister it comes with, too, imagining the same things he imagined with his sketchbook. He looks back up at his parents, opening his arms. He pulls them both into a hug, saying "thank you" almost a million times. His heart is _bursting_.

He watches, grinning as his parents open their last present. His father tells his mother to go ahead and open hers with that same sly look he was giving Eliott. His mother smiles, confused, but takes off the wrapping paper and opening the box. Her hands immediately fly to her mouth. 

"This is that dress I saw in that store window months ago," she gasps. "When did you buy this, Eduard?"

His father looks at her with so much _love_ in his eyes as he replies, "The day after we saw it. I knew you'd look beautiful in it, and I saw how much you loved it."

Eliott looks and sees the dress. It's a light, powder blue that tucks into a royal blue, pleated skirt. It has a crisp, white collar with delicate flowers embroidered on it.

"Go put it on, Maman," he grins. "You'll look so pretty wearing it."

"I'm about to work on what we're bringing to dinner tonight," she dismisses, shaking her head. "I might get stains on it, and it's just so lovely."

"Just try it on, Noémie," his father replies. "You can change when you start cooking."

She smiles, looking back down at the dress. She looks back up, nodding. "Okay. I'll be right back." She takes the dress and runs up the stairs to his parents' room.

"Maman's going to look so beautiful," Eliott says, his heart bursting even more. He thinks it's bleeding into his voice. 

"You should've seen her on our wedding day," his father replies, his voice wistful, reverent. "She hates wearing white, but she was a vision in it that day. I cried as soon as I saw her enter the chapel. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She _is_ the most beautiful woman in the world."

Eliott grins as he listens to his father, close to tears himself. "I want to love somebody the way you love Maman. And I think I want someone to love me the way you love her, too."

"Someone will, my boy," his father reassures him. "We're all meant to love somebody, I think. Something like a soulmate."

"Are you and Maman soulmates?" he asks, his chest stirring at the thought of love being woven into every part of him.

"If you ask Maman, she'll tell you we're not," he sighs, still smiling. "But your mother isn't romantic like that. If you ask _me_ , yes. A thousand times, yes."

"How did you know that?" he asks. "That she was your soulmate? That you loved her?"

"I always knew, Eliott," he answers almost immediately. Then he continues, thoughtful and warm. "I think it's a matter of when I recognized it, called it by its name. And I did that when I heard her sing one time at a choir concert when we were in school. You know she has a beautiful singing voice, but that night, there was this _look_ in her eyes as she sang. Like she believed every word she was singing. Like she knew she had to sing because she had something to say and she believed it was important. Like she was in love with music and life itself. Then her eyes found me and she smiled and her voice was louder and clearer than it had been before. She was singing to me for the rest of the concert. And I've loved her ever since."

He hears the door to his parents' room open, then, and he hears his mother's footsteps. He sits up, his smile widening. 

"Are you two ready?" she asks, her voice floating excitedly down the stairs.

"Yes!" they both reply, equally as excited. 

She appears at the top of the stairs, her hair pulled up into a bun and her new dress fitting her perfectly. She twirls, the skirt of her dress rippling like the waves. A few strands of hair fall loose from her bun, framing her face. She grins, and it makes her glow.

Eliott's father stands up, rushing up the stairs to meet her and kiss her softly. Her arms drape over his shoulders as she kisses him back, and it reminds Eliott of the movies. A love that overcomes any obstacle that stands in their way, a love so powerful and yet so soft and tender. He grins, warmth filling his chest.

 _We_ are _a happy family._

His parents walk back down the stairs, then his father opens his last present. It's a new watch, one that his mother says wasn't too expensive, but she remembered him complaining that the watch he has now isn't working as well as it used to. He studies it for a moment, its fairly cheap but shining band, the gilded lettering along its face. He latches it onto his wrist, promising to never take it off unless he absolutely has to.

It's well into the afternoon now, so his mother changes out of her new dress and starts working on the side dishes they'll be bringing to dinner at the Lallemants'. She sings an old song she used to listen to during the war, one that reminded her of his father when he was a soldier. Her voice floats all around the house like sunlight, the words she's singing promising to wait in perfect patience, in perfect love, for the man she loves. His father is watching TV, and occasionally staring at his new watch for a while. He smiles, his eyes following the second hand tick, tick, tick by. Then, he'll look up and chuckle at a joke in the show, then he'll look back down at his watch. Eliott has already begun sketching in his new sketchbook, drawing dresses he thinks his mother would look pretty in, ones that would make her smile, ones that made her look like she was an actress in a movie. He doesn't know a thing about designing dresses, but he knows what would make his mother happy. Eliott can't help but think that this was what he meant when he said Christmas is warmth and joy. He can't help but think he's the happiest he's ever been.

Soon, they're all getting dressed for dinner at the Lallemants', as well as the party they always hold afterwards. Eliott's wearing a heavy, almost itchy sweater, but he likes its greenish gray color, and he's worn it the past couple years. He supposes it's a bit of a tradition. His father wears his new pants and one of his newer shirts, and his mother once again considers wearing her new dresses, but decides it's better to be safe than sorry. She still wears a beautiful dress, though, a red one with long sleeves and a hem that nearly touches the floor. They all carry a small plate as they walk over to the Lallemants' talking and laughing and letting the biting winter air carry their voices a little farther than they can reach. Eliott's also cautiously carrying his new camera, ecstatic about showing it to Lucas. He really liked Arthur's camera, too, and Eliott figures it could be special if they both have pictures they've taken saved on film.

His father, the only one with a free hand, knocks on the door as they reach the Lallemants' front porch. Madame Lallemant answers, wearing a rich green button-up shirt and dark slacks. She smiles widely when she sees them, offering to take one of the plates from Eliott's mother. Lucas comes running up to the door, his eyes lighting up when he sees Eliott. Eliott feels his chest warm, feels himself become lighter.

"You're wearing _that_ sweater again?" Lucas asks, chuckling. "I don't think it fits you anymore, _mec_."

Eliott shrugs. "Tradition? Besides, you're one to talk. That sweater is new, but it's not as stylish as mine, I think."

Lucas looks down at his sweater, a gray knitted one. "What's wrong with my sweater?" he asks, almost pouting. 

"I'm kidding, Lucas," Eliott chuckles, pulling him into a hug. "It's a nice sweater."

He feels Lucas tense a little bit, but he eases into the hug. "Thanks, Eliott."

"Of course," he replies, hugging Lucas a little tighter. He pulls away after a moment, grinning. "Hey, do you want to see my big present?" he asks excitedly, trying to hide his camera.

"Yeah!" Lucas grins, his smile wavering ever so slightly. But Eliott pretends he didn't notice it.

He shows off his camera, his eyes never leaving Lucas's face. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open a little. He looks back up at Eliott, stammering and chuckling.

"A film camera?" he asks. "Like Arthur has? Don't these cost an arm and a leg?"

"Maman said they managed to get enough to buy one for me," Eliott replies, his words starting to run together a little bit. "I need to toy around with it a bit and figure out how it works, but once I do I can give you some pointers and you can take some pictures with it."

Lucas's eyes widen even more, his lips spreading into a grin. "Seriously? You'll let me?"

"Of course," Eliott shrugs, as if it were obvious. "You liked Arthur's camera, too, right?"

"Yeah," Lucas replies, nodding. His smile fades a little, and he looks up at Eliott again. "Can I see it?"

"Yeah, here," Eliott smiles, handing it over to him.

Lucas turns it over in his hands, his smile returning as he studies it. "It's so cool."

"I know, right?" Eliott replies. "I can't wait to start taking pictures with it."

"Me, too," Lucas grins, giving it back to him. "Don't let me break it, though."

Eliott shakes his head, laughing. "I think you should be more worried about me breaking it."

"Boys, we're eating!" Madame Lallemant calls, making them jump.

"Coming, Maman!" Lucas responds.

They enter the dining room, where a large, tempting array of food lay set on the table. At the center was a decadent turkey, surrounded by warm slices of bread and steaming plates of vegetables. Lucas and Eliott both look at each other, their eyes wide and stomachs beginning to rumble. Lucas looks away quickly, though, and Eliott thinks he saw his cheeks flushing. They quickly take their seats at the table.

"Eduard," Madame Lallemant says. "Could you say grace?"

"Of course," he smiles. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," everyone echoes, signing the Cross.

Lucas pulls his hand away rather quickly, and Eliott once again tries to pretend he doesn't notice. He starts picking at his potatoes, listening to the conversation going around the table. Madame Lallemant asks about his father's health, which has been much better recently. His mother asks Madame Lallemant how she's been doing as far as her mental health, and she says that she's been much better, too. His mother asks Lucas if he's shown him his new camera yet, and Lucas smiles politely and says that he's seen it. Lucas and Eliott both get asked about how their semester went, and Lucas has better things to report than Eliott does, but that's how it always was. Lucas was always smarter than Eliott.

Eliott tries to steal glances at Lucas, but he seems distracted, absentminded. Eliott's first thought is that he could be nervous about playing the piano later, but Lucas did that every year, and he was rarely nervous. Then he thought he could be having leftover nerves from exams, but Lucas is acting differently than he does when he's stressed about school. Lucas tends to ramble to himself when he's working through a math or science problem, but he's awfully quiet right now. Eliott feels the need to again pretend he doesn't notice Lucas's behavior, but he knows him too well not to notice every shift in his face or in his mood, even if it's only for a fraction of a second.

He nudges Lucas, who jumps a bit but then turns to look at him. " _Ça va?_ " he mouths.

Lucas nods, giving him a fake smile.

Eliott raises his eyebrows in response, not believing him.

Lucas's smile drops, and he just shrugs. He tears his gaze away from Eliott, staring intently at his food. Eliott feels himself deflate.

Him and Lucas don't talk much throughout dinner, finishing their food long before their parents do. It goes by fairly quickly, though, and Madame Lallemant starts bringing out the _bûche de Noël_ , like she makes every year. It looks wonderful, like it always does, and when Eliott looks over, Lucas is genuinely smiling. He maintains it mostly while they eat, and Eliott smiles, too, his heart slightly at ease now.

"Lucas," Madame Lallemant says as they finish eating. "Are you ready for your annual concert?"

Lucas perks up, a sense of anxiety almost radiating off of him. But he recovers and smiles, nodding. "I think so."

"Great!" she smiles back. "Let's all go to the piano, then."

Everyone rises from their seats and crosses the room to the piano, Lucas sitting at the bench and Eliott sitting next to him. Their parents stand off to the side, Eliott's father putting his arms around his mother and Madame Lallemant gazing lovingly at her son. 

Lucas takes a deep breath, lets his hands hover over the keys for a moment, then he begins to play. Eliott recognizes the tune immediately: "O Holy Night." Then Lucas starts singing. 

Lucas has always been a singer, but his voice sounds _different_. It's softer, warmer, gentle like a candle flame. It fills, it swells, it sweeps. Usually, everyone would sing along, but they're quiet; listening to every note, every change in inflection in his voice. He's never sounded more beautiful. 

Eliott's eyes can't leave Lucas's face, his eyes. He's afraid he'll miss something there. He doesn't know what that something could be, but he feels like he can't miss it for the world. 

Lucas's eyes are filled with _melancholy_ , a _longing_ . His lips tremble as he sings, as if they can't bear the weight of the words they _want_ to say, but can't. But then, he takes a breath and his lips spread slowly into a content, peaceful smile. A blush starts bleeding into his cheeks, the tip of his ears. Lucas looks like a star is exploding within his chest, filling him with a thousand wishes and the fires of millennia. It coats his throat, his tongue, coming out sweetly, almost sickly. Eliott wonders what it feels like, tastes like for Lucas. It must be sweet for him, too, the way he's smiling and the way his eyes seem to yearn for more, but is no longer ashamed of it.

Lucas turns his head and looks at him, and he swears the world stops in its tracks. It's like when he would read books under his blanket, with time frozen and the earth silent, but Lucas is here now, too. It's like he somehow sneaked in through some veil, some barrier, and he's found Eliott. He was looking for him. And he found him. Eliott doesn't mind that he's here, either. He's not a character in a story he can take and mold and shape. He's someone he loves, someone he can't change, but someone he also trusts enough to help him keep the universe in perfect balance. Much like the melody Lucas is playing, much like the kindness that seems to drip from his fingers, Eliott knows his universe is safe in Lucas's hands.

Lucas doesn't look away. He lets his hands remember the shape of the melody, his tongue remember the waves of each note, but his eyes stay focused on Eliott. And Eliott can't quite look away. He feels a _burning_ fill his chest. He wonders if his heart heard Lucas's crying out and offered to shoulder some of the burden. But as he lets it burn a bit, as he becomes familiar with its heat and the breathing of its flames, he knows there's only one possible name for this fire, this _burning_ : love.

He remembers his father's story about his mother, how music filled the air—music nurtured by the lungs and hands of two of the most precious people in the universe. How two sets of eyes find each other and can't let go of each other. How the music shifts, how it finally sees a direction, how it finds something to exist for, to be _beautiful_ for. How everything makes sense, how every twist and turn and knot the strings of fate took just to allow for this single, breathtaking moment. The moment love blooms, the moment its beholder finally sees its gorgeous petals, its sturdy, smooth stem, and suddenly remembers a seed being planted and watching it grow. For the briefest, deepest moment, Eliott's eyes have never been clearer, and his heart has never sung more from within its cage.

_Love._

Eliott's breath pauses, realizing just like he is that from this moment on, it will never fade in and out of the air the way it did before. It has found its direction, its purpose, too. His breath now lives and dies for Lucas, sings and falls silent for his voice, his patience, his smile. It finally escapes his mouth, stumbling and shivering but with _joy_.

But Lucas looks away, and Eliott's breath peters out, cracked.

Lucas finishes the song, his voice and the plucking of the piano dying out like a hearth, warm and sighing. The blush leaves his face, and he breathes out the embers still left in his lungs. His fire has been snuffed, gently suffocated. The coals in Eliott's chest seem to burn brighter, hotter now that it seems to burn alone.

Eliott's parents and Madame Lallemant begin applauding loudly. Eliott joins in, clapping weakly and putting on a small, brave smile. Madame Lallemant traps her son in a tight, loving hug that Lucas seems to melt into.

"That was beautiful, baby," she coos, kissing his forehead. "I'm so proud of you."

"It's just the Christmas show, Maman," Lucas chuckles. "It wasn't anything that special."

"It was!" she beams, taking the words right out of Eliott's mouth. She pulls away, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You could've performed that on a big stage in front of the entire world and they all would've loved you."

Lucas shakes his head a little as he bows it, his eyes tracing the grain of the piano bench. He's bashful, glowing. He looks back up at Madame Lallemant, shrugging. "Thank you, Maman."

She gives him another kiss on the forehead, taking a step or two back once she sees that he's a little embarrassed. Eliott hears her apologize in the quietest voice, and he sees Lucas tense a little. He sees him shake his head, but he doesn't hear him say anything.

"That really was amazing, Lucas," Eliott's mother says, still clapping lightly. "You really outdid yourself this year."

"I guess I'd better start thinking about what I'll play next year soon," Lucas jokes, still tense. 

"I'm sure that will be amazing, too," Eliott's father replies. "I can't wait to see it."

Lucas nods, turning to Eliott. He relaxes, just a little. "You're quiet, Eliott," he says. "What did you think?"

Eliott sees the clarity in Lucas's eyes, the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, the way he's wringing his hands. Eliott smiles, trying to put Lucas at ease. "You're surprising. I've known you all these years but you keep surprising me. That was gorgeous, Lucas."

Lucas's nervous smile changes into a shy yet sweet one. Eliott can tell he wants to smile wider, but he doesn't know why Lucas is trying to hold it back. He's beautiful when he smiles all wide and toothy. _He's_ beautiful.

The fire crackles then roars in his chest, a new life breathing into the flames and helping them grow. 

What is he supposed to do with them?

"Eliott?" Lucas says, his voice quiet, soft. It almost sends a shiver down Eliott's spine. " _Ça va?_ "

Eliott nods, trying to muster the most genuine smile he could. Lucas's smile widens, and Eliott doesn't need to force the genuineness anymore. Lucas's hand, almost in slow motion, travels over to Eliott's shoulder. His fingers seem to hover, but then touch the fabric of Eliott's shoulder gently, as if they were afraid of what would happen if worlds collided. Lucas's hand becomes comfortable, welcome there, and his smile widens again.

The fire is eating Eliott from the inside out.

"Thank you so much again, Madeleine," Eliott's mother says, snapping both Lucas and Eliott out of their little bubble. "I think we're going to head home."

Eliott's smile falls, and Lucas's does, too. They share another look, one that Eliott is sure is filled with longing. He feels another scorch in his chest. They both stand up from the bench, giving each other a hug. Lucas lifts his chin so his head can rest on Eliott's shoulder. Eliott's fingers brush Lucas's hair, but he lets them stay there for a moment.

"Goodnight, Lucas," Eliott whispers, letting his eyes close for a moment. 

"Goodnight, Eliott," Lucas whispers back, his voice soft and warm as ever. Eliott bites his lip to keep from grinning.

Lucas pulls away first, his hand lingering on Eliott's back for the briefest moment. Eliott pulls away, too, giving Lucas another sweet, genuine smile.

He sees his parents giving Madame Lallemant a hug out of the corner of his eyes. He walks over to her as they walk over to Lucas. She grins at him and holds out her arms. He grins back and hugs her.

"Thank you, Madame Lallemant," he tells her. "Everything was wonderful."

"Of course," she replies. "Merry Christmas, Eliott."

"Merry Christmas," he returns as he pulls away.

He glances over his shoulder and his eyes lock with Lucas's again. Lucas has the sweetest, smallest smile on his face as he looks down at the floor. Eliott can see the blush in his cheeks, even with his face turned down.

"Come on, Eliott," his father calls from the front door.

"Coming," he replies, bounding over to them. He swears he feels Lucas's gaze on his back, and he can't help but smile. 

* * *

_december 26th, 1965_

_03:00_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott can't sleep. He can't sit still. He can't slow down. He can't think straight. He can't breathe. He's dizzy. He's anxious. He's bursting. He's exhausted. His vision is just out of focus. His heart is beating ever so slightly off rhythm. His hands are shaking. He picks apart the darkness, banishing it and filling it with all the extra thoughts he doesn't have room for in his head. He plays records so quietly he has to hang his head just above the vinyl to hear it, and it's even still too quiet over the scratching and carving of the needle. He's tried drinking tea but he doesn't quite taste it, only burning his tongue on it. He paces his room on his tiptoes, afraid of the floor crumbling beneath him if his heels ever touched the ground. His lips are pulled taut, and he can't quite tell if he's smiling or just holding back every ramble on the tip of his tongue. Everything is bleeding. His thoughts leak into his blood, his blood seeps just beneath his skin, his skin blends into the air. He's fading into the background again. Only this time, the picture he's been trapped in is unfamiliar. He's been developed onto film that was left in the sun too long, or was too old, or not right for the camera. He doesn't know what to do.

 _My new sketchbook,_ he thinks suddenly. _I can start drawing in it._

He grabs it as well as his pencils and tears out the page with the dresses he drew on it, setting it aside. He stares at the new blank page in front of him, trying to decipher any single thought but they move along too quickly for him to make out anything they said. He's chasing his own tail, _thousands_ of his own tails.

He exhales slowly, methodically, his eyes trailing over to the corner of his room where his lamp sits. He follows the trail of light as it spills onto the floor. He watches it mix like paint with the moonlight filtering through his window, creating a dreamy, purple hue. Then he sees the darkness creeping behind it, slowly inching forward. It attacks slowly. It bleeds. 

_Light and dark,_ he thinks again, his mind slowing down. _Light can only reach so far. Darkness can only reach so far, too. What happens at the intersection? What happens the moment they collide, at the place where they fragment?_

Eliott shifts closer to his lamp, to the light, his hand immediately sweeping over the page, leaving charcoal trails behind. He builds a bridge, each of its stones trying to break through the mortar and war with the others, trying to chip and crack away at each other. He paves a road, the dirt and the leaves lying on top of each other, litters of bodies and skeletons. He grows a forest, each tree with their own unique circumference, their own number of branches and leaves, their own height, their own love for their neighbors. He forms a night sky, dark and inky and suffocating. He authors an opera between the stars and the moon, songs where the lyrics and the melodies are familiar and the characters are beloved friends. He forges a bond between the self his hand creates more so than the self every grain of glass he's seen reflect back at him. He creates a world, at least a corner of it so far, but he _knows_ something is missing. 

_What's missing?_ his brain asks him. _Find it. Find it before it slips away. Find it before it gets bored of waiting for you. Find it before you lose it forever. Find it before your world becomes obsolete, before it becomes timeworn, before it's gone. Find it._

Eliott searches his drawing, his room. His eyes are moving too quickly for his brain to catch up now. He swears he feels his pupils enlarge.

_Find it find it find it find it find it find it FIND IT!_

He shakes his head violently, trying to knock the thoughts out of his skull. He starts tearing through his room. He rips after thousands of sheets of paper, throws his comforter and sheets off his bed, yanks all the books off his bookshelf, turns his lamp on and off until the constant shifting starts hurting his head and eyes. He can't move fast enough. He can't look hard enough. His heart isn't beating fast enough. His brain isn't thinking fast enough. The thing he's looking for is moving too quickly. It's too hard to see. It speaks in a language that Eliott can't understand. He can't find it. He can't _find it_ . He can't _breathe_.

He shoves his window up to open it, sticking his head out and taking in gulps of the chilly, inky air. Maybe the thing he's looking for is out there somewhere. Maybe it's buried beneath the sand, or hidden in the seafoam, or seeking refuge in the moonlight.

_Refuge. Moonlight. The fear of the dark. Lucas._

Eliott leans out of his window a little more, craning his head so he can see Lucas's house. Lucas always had a lamp on in his room, but when Eliott looks, the lamp is off but the main light to his room is on. He's awake.

 _Lucas's light can only reach so far. His darkness can only reach so far, too._ Our _light and darkness can only reach so far._

Eliott grabs his sketchbook from off his bed, trying his best to sit on his windowsill so the moonlight can guide his hand, so the light from Lucas's room can help him find the missing piece.

 _No. He_ is _the missing piece._

Eliott turns to the next page, snatching scraps of pictures in his mind and pasting them onto his page. He's mostly just shading as darkly as he can, leaving a space in the middle for Lucas, the missing piece.

His brain still won't stop tripping over its own thoughts. His hand still shakes as he draws, smudging the charcoal. But he's beginning to smile. The pictures are becoming a cohesive story. A boy who's afraid of the light, and a boy who's afraid of the dark. _Love_ is what happens at the intersection between dark and light. _Love_ is what happens the moment they collide, at the place where they fragment. Light and dark can only reach so far, but love can reach father, and it can never fall short.

He fills his sketchbook in a few short yet dragging hours. There's scene after scene, opera after opera, bridge after bridge. Eliott starts becoming comfortable with the cool shadows of the dark. Lucas starts becoming comfortable with the warm pools of sunshine. Lucas and Eliott hold hands. They kiss. Their foreheads touch. The sun rises. They don't leave each other. 

The urgency Eliott has felt all night is practically dripping from his sketchbook. It's obvious in the spots where Eliott pressed the graphite down on the page a little harder than he needed to. It was apparent from almost every single line, bowing and curving and staggering. He could see it in the way he drew their hair, a collection of assorted strands all pulling in different directions. He could feel it as he flips through the several pages where Lucas's lips are against his, watching every shift of their lips, their chins, their hands on each other's faces. This sketchbook, this story _is_ urgency. The urge to get over fear, the urge to go after what your heart yearns for, the urge to touch and kiss and feel and love and _be_ loved.

All Eliott can feel right now is _want_ , anxiety, pins and needles, suspense. Even after filling his sketchbook. Even after drawing out such an elaborate and desperate fantasy, one that he never really considered before. His hand isn't even tired. None of these urges he feels has gone away. He doesn't know how to make them go away. He doesn't know if he's felt anything like this before. He doesn't remember himself ever feeling high as a kite and then suddenly needing to navigate massive gales and thunderstorms. He doesn't know if this is normal. He doesn't know if something is wrong. He just doesn't know.

He watches Lucas's room from his window, hoping it would calm him down. Lucas turned off his light and turned on his lamp a while ago, but the small flicker of light there in his window is comforting, almost. It's playing with the lightening sky, almost encouraging the sun to rise and share its light. Eliott wonders, too, if Lucas sees the light of his lamp appears in his dreams, maybe his nightmares, comforting him in sleep, too. The thought makes Eliott smile, and his anxiety eases just enough that he can watch the sunrise.

He wishes he had another spot in his sketchbook to draw it. He wishes he had another spot in his sketchbook to draw Lucas one more time.

* * *

_january 9th, 1966_

_10:17_

_caen, france_

~

"Eliott?" a voice says, gently beckoning Eliott from his dreams.

Eliott opens his eyes, and a familiar, soft face smiles at him, veiled in sunlight. _Lucas_. His eyelashes are long and almost blond in the light, his eyes even brighter and bluer than Eliott knows them to be. Even the side of Lucas's face that's shadowed is beautiful. His light still shines through, just enough to break through the darkness. He really is beautiful. Especially when he's soft like this, sweet and happy. But Eliott can't seem to smile as he studies the line of Lucas's nose, the curve of his lips. His heart can't seem to glow and beam like it usually does when Lucas is next to him. 

"Are you okay?" Lucas asks, his face suddenly slacking with concern. 

Eliott isn't sure. His body feels heavy—his eyelids, his chest, his limbs. His mind is foggy, too, almost lethargic. He doesn't feel sick, though. He doesn't feel like he has a fever, and his nose isn't congested. His stomach doesn't feel queasy, either. It's a little hard to breathe, but does that mean he's sick? He shrugs. "I don't know."

Lucas's brow furrows, and there's a knowing look in his eyes. "Do you want me to get your parents?" 

Eliott doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't want to bother his parents when they might be busy, and he doesn't want to make Lucas get them for him. He decides to shake his head. "No, it's okay."

Lucas somehow seems even more worried now, his eyes frantically searching Eliott's face for something they can't find. "Are you sure you're okay, El? You're not sick, are you?" 

"I don't think so," Eliott replies, trying to examine his own body. 

"Try sitting up," Lucas suggests, standing up and sitting back down at the edge of his bed. 

Eliott manages to, slowly but surely. He feels a little dizzy, but he shuts his eyes and regains his bearings. 

"How are you feeling?" Lucas asks. "Just in general?"

"I'm exhausted," Eliott sighs. "I fell asleep before 9 o'clock last night, but I feel like I haven't slept a wink. And my head feels... Cloudy. Dark clouds. Storm clouds, but they haven't let their rain out yet. But it's weighing down my whole body. My arms and legs feel heavy. My chest feels empty, though, like everything inside it withered while I was asleep and there's just ashes left. I don't... I don't feel like myself, Lucas. I feel like I woke up in someone else's body."

Lucas is listening carefully, but he can't hide the worry on his face. He can't hide the way it steals a bit of the light in his eyes, or the way it strikes the smile off his face. Eliott could see it from a million miles away, from another universe, and he thinks seeing it could kill him every time, every place. He doesn't have much strength left to ask him what's wrong, so he can only feel the pain _radiating_ off of Lucas, the pain that _he_ caused.

"You're worried," Eliott manages to say, his voice flat.

"You worry about me all the time," Lucas replies, tearful. "I know you do. Isn't it my turn to worry about you?"

"Who said you needed to wait your turn?" Eliott asks. "Who said you couldn't worry about me?"

Lucas sighs, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact with Eliott. He shrugs as he replies, "I don't know."

Eliott reaches carefully and takes Lucas's hand. Lucas tenses, inhaling sharply, and his eyes flick quickly between Eliott's hand and Eliott's face. He doesn't squeeze Eliott's hand and he tenses even more when Eliott tries to. Eliott sighs, realizing he's crossed a line. He starts to pull his hand away, but Lucas tenses again. He quickly latches onto Eliott's hand, almost desperately. 

"S-sorry," Lucas stammers, letting go of Eliott's hand. 

"You didn't do anything wrong," Eliott replies, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologize."

Lucas shrugs again. He cradles his own hand in his other one, caressing his palm and his knuckles. He traps it in his other hand, holding and squeezing it tightly, as if caging it to keep it from lashing out, reaching for something it shouldn't. "I know," he mumbles unconvincingly. 

"Lie with me, Lucas," Eliott suggests quietly, all of him hoping he's found the way to make Lucas smile again, make the worry melt off his face. "I'm sleepy. And nothing can happen to me if I'm asleep and you're next to me. You won't have to worry about me as much."

Eliott shifts closer to his wall, leaving space for Lucas to lie next to him. Lucas doesn't move, though. He stares at Eliott, incredulous, anxious. He sighs, squeezing his hand over the other again. He studies the empty space, that same longing charging him during his Christmas concert washing over his face. He glances at Eliott, his eyes flicking over every inch of his face. He has the faintest smile on his face as he nods once, lying down next to Eliott. He tries to keep an inch or two of distance between them, but Eliott doesn't mind. Lucas is warm, wide, and deep. His weight is comforting as it presses down on the other side of the mattress, reminding Eliott that he isn't alone. 

"Thank you," Eliott says.

"You're welcome," Lucas returns, his voice soft, quiet.

Eliott falls asleep a moment later, falling into a complete, almost comforting darkness. He doesn't dream. He doesn't feel, for a moment. And when he wakes, the darkness lingers, tinting his vision and staining his muscles. It seems to darken when he realizes that the sun is setting, and that Lucas isn't weighing down the other side of his bed. His weary fingers brush against a piece of paper resting on his pillow. It has his name on it in Lucas's jagged cursive. He unfolds it slowly, taking a deep breath.

_I'm sorry I had to leave. It was getting late, and I didn't want to wake you. And I'm sorry I couldn't say all this earlier. I didn't quite know how to. But as I watched you sleep and as I listened to my brain remind me of all the things that could go wrong, the words finally came to me._

_Earlier, when you were talking about how you were feeling, all of it reminded me of Maman. And when she gets like that, she likes to sleep, too. That's why I'm worried. It makes me sound like a bad friend and a bad son, but I don't want you to be like her, Eliott. Every time she gets depressed she seems to lose another piece of herself and I slowly forget about my own mother. I've seen what the depression does to her, and I'm afraid those same things will happen to you. I don't want you to hurt like my Maman has. And I don't want one of the last few good things in my life to slip through my fingers. I don't want to lose you like I've been losing Maman. I don't want to lose everyone I love. Is that selfish of me?_

_Sorry. I'll let you sleep. Let me know if you need anything. I may not have the words, but I can be there. I'm sorry again that I had to leave. Sleep well, Eliott. I hope your dreams are sweet instead of dark and bitter. I hope this is just a random spell, and not some twisted sign of something much, much worse. I care about you. I know you know that, but I needed to say it, and I have a feeling you need to hear it. I'm sorry again. I'm so, so sorry._

Eliott must've read it a thousand times trying to process every word, trying to analyze the bigger picture. And every time he feels worse, his guilt opening its jaws and scraping its teeth against his skin. Every time, he keeps seeing the _look_ on Lucas's face, the darkness in his eyes. Every time, he wishes he could throw off his blankets and run to Lucas's house, asking him if they can talk. But every time, he sinks further into his bed, melting into his sheets and being pinned down by his blankets. 

He shuts his eyes, hoping for all the things Lucas is hoping for, and so, so much more.

* * *

_april 11th, 1966_

_18:30_

_caen, france_

~

 _Lucas watches helplessly as Eliott smiles and laughs so brightly he's convinced the sun isn't setting tonight, but retreating in defeat as it realizes that something brighter burns beneath it. Eliott_ is _brighter than the sun—warmer, softer, closer. How_ beautiful _the world could be if Eliott became the sun, and how_ miserable _Lucas would feel at the same time. But then again, Lucas is still miserable when the sun is sitting right next to him, when the sun is so close he could only stretch his fingers and touch him. Then again, he'll be miserable no matter where the sun is around the world or within the universe. He's miserable because he's in love and he's afraid that he'll never not be. He's miserable because he doesn't know how much more of this he can take—the burning and the blushing, the serenity and the shame. He doesn't know if he can keep coming to the realization that his father was right all along without feeling like he could implode at any moment. He doesn't know if he can muster another prayer without feeling like the first sinner that God couldn't save. He doesn't know how much longer he can try to convince himself that Eliott could love him, too—that he would be willing to face any God-given punishment or hell itself and hold Lucas's hand all along the way. He doesn't know how much longer he can live like this._

_"Lucas?" Eliott says, his voice pulling Lucas out of his thoughts and giving him a soft place to land. His face has fallen, drawn slightly taut with concern. "Are you okay? You seem a little distant."_

_Lucas nods, almost forgetting to smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking."_

_Eliott's smile perks up again. "About?"_

_"A lot of things," Lucas decides to say, shrugging. He tries to chuckle, but it doesn't come out like he wanted it to. He looks down at his lap, avoiding eye contact with Eliott, but he can still feel his gaze on him._

_"Your maman isn't getting bad again, is she?" Eliott asks carefully, his voice quiet._

_"No," Lucas answers quickly. "No, she's doing okay right now."_

_"That's good, but," Eliott replies, sighing. "What's on your mind, then?"_

_Lucas bites his lip, and he can feel it trembling beneath his teeth. How could he ever say what he's been thinking? How could he ever admit any of that?_

_"Lucas," Eliott says again, placing his hand on Lucas's shoulder. "What's wrong?"_

_"I don't know how to tell you," Lucas replies, trying to fight back the tears filling his eyes._

_"Tell me what?" Eliott tries, gently, patiently._

_Lucas takes a deep but shaky breath. He shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I can't tell you, Eliott."_

_"Lucas..." Eliott starts, but his voice trails off. Lucas hears him sigh deeply. "Why not?" he says then, with something in his voice that Lucas has never heard before. Fear?_

_Lucas doesn't know how to reply. He's afraid that if he starts talking he won't be able to stop until every word that's piled on his tongue and down his throat and in his chest has been set free. He thinks he tastes blood, poison in all those words, and he's afraid, too, that he'll vomit them up and be left with a bitter taste in his mouth. He can't see any scenario where he stays silent, though, and this realization makes more fear bloom in his stomach than anything else. He feels his chest tighten, his lungs squeeze, his heart constrict. His blood runs cold, his fingertips tingle, his head spins. Panic. All he feels is panic._

_"Hey, Lucas," Eliott says, his voice much more concerned now. He gently moves Lucas to where he's facing him, and his touch feels like a burn, a scorch. Lucas hears a noise whimper out of his throat, something like a sob or a snivel. He feels like his throat is closing up._

_"Lucas, look at me," Eliott says, lightly squeezing Lucas's shoulders. "Look at me."_

_Lucas musters another mite of courage and lifts his head, his eyes meeting Eliott's. He's spellbound for a moment, watching blue and green and gray mix and bleed into Lucas's favorite color. But there's something like a film over Eliott's eyes, probably concern and worry. Eliott always worries. Lucas has seen Eliott try to hide it sometimes, and he doesn't know if he would prefer if he hid it now or not. But after a moment, the concern melts away and Eliott's eyes soften, fill with kindness. It makes Lucas smile._

_"There you go," Eliott smiles back. "I love it when you smile."_

_Lucas's smile widens, and the familiar blush colors his cheeks. There's that lingering sense of shame, of course, just beneath his skin and fingernails, but Eliott is stronger than it. His touch is stronger, his voice is stronger,_ he _is stronger. Lucas just needs to focus on him, the feeling of his fingertips just barely digging into his skin, the feeling of their knees resting against each other. Maybe if he lets Eliott anchor him, he can stop choking and let all his words spill out. Maybe Eliott won't wiggle free and let himself be whisked away by the ever-changing tide. Maybe he'll stay. Maybe._

_Lucas studies Eliott's eyes a moment or two longer, finding every spot where the color changed ever so slightly, finding every spot that shone a bit brighter, finding every perfection and imperfection. He can breathe again, and his words aren't as heavy. He breathes in and out slowly, the last breath he'll take before the long overdue truth he's hidden for so long will be known._

_"I don't think I can fall in love with girls, Eliott," he finally,_ finally _admits. "That's what's wrong. I think I've been falling in love with boys."_

_He pauses for a moment, watching Eliott's face carefully. Something lights in his eyes—hope? But his face doesn't change much besides a slight smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He nods at Lucas, urging him to keep talking._

_"It's a sin, I know, but," Lucas continues, almost choking on the word_ sin _._

_"It's not a sin," Eliott says firmly, shaking his head._

_"It is," Lucas disagrees, his throat closing up. "The Bible says—"_

_"It's_ not _, Lucas," Eliott interrupts, a fire in his eyes and on his tongue. "It's_ not _. Do you hear me?"_

_"How do you know that?" Lucas asks, his chest tightening again. "We don't get to decide what's a sin and what's not a sin. Only God can."_

_"Because it doesn't make sense!" he almost laughs, incredulous. "And it isn't fair! Especially to you, Lucas! I don't remember you missing a single mass since we were kids. You can quote half the Bible from memory. You know the words to almost every song in the hymnal. You love God and anyone can see it in your eyes. Now all that is obsolete? Just because you like boys? How is that fair? How does that make God a just God? You're not a sinner, Lucas, not like some people at church want you to think you are."_

_"Then why do I feel like one?" Lucas blurts out, his words trembling. "I've prayed every night, Eliott._ Every night. _After hours of hearing memories of my father and the boys at school calling me a queer, or staring at my ceiling and watching myself fall in love with and marry a girl and having to hear my heart whisper how it could never want something like this, I would pray. And every time, I prayed that all these sinful feelings would just go away and I could be_ normal. _That I could prove my father and everyone wrong. I couldn't be a queer. I_ couldn't _. The night after Christmas last year I prayed that God would just_ kill me _before I let myself give into temptation. That way I had a chance at getting into heaven. Do you understand that, Eliott? I asked God to_ kill me _. Why would I do that if it wasn't a sin? Why would I ever lose sleep because I keep listening to the heart beating in my chest and hoping it was just off-rhythm somehow, that it could be fixed somehow? Because I thought it was just blind and can't tell a boy from a girl and that it would open its eyes someday and realize that it was looking in all the wrong places? Why would I do any of that if I didn't think it was wrong or that I would go to hell for it? Why?"_

 _Eliott doesn't reply at first, and the silence is unbearable. Lucas is left to watch Eliott's face, left to scour for any trace of emotion. But his eyes are a little wider, and something like tears are shining in them. His mouth has shrunk to a thin line, and his lower lip is starting to stick out. He shakes his head once, looking off for a moment. Lucas hates the way he needs Eliott to look at him again, the way he needs Eliott to just_ say something _. He hates the way he needs Eliott. He feels a tear roll down his cheek, and it's as cold as ice._

_Eliott finally looks back at him, and his eyes follow his tear. He lifts his hand, his thumb carefully wiping it away. Slowly, the rest of his hand gently cradles Lucas's face. His hand is soft, warm, familiar. Lucas melts into the touch, leaning into Eliott's hand. His eyes close, and a heavy, relieved sigh escapes his body. Eliott's thumb is tracing Lucas's cheekbone now, and it's so gentle Lucas wonders if anything else in this world could ever hold him so softly, so lovingly. He doesn't want Eliott to stop touching him._

_"You can't make it stop, can you?" Eliott asks quietly, placing his other hand on the other side of Lucas's face. "The falling in love?"_

_"No," Lucas shakes his head. "I can't."_

_"Well, God made us in His image, didn't He?" Eliott replies. "He made you, Lucas."_

_"Do you think He made me this way?" Lucas asks, toeing the fine line between hope and fear._

_"He shaped you by hand," Eliott answers, his voice the kindest thing Lucas's ever heard. "He's the perfect potter. How could He ever make a mistake with you, Lucas?"_

_"But if He made me this way," Lucas says, leaning towards fear. "Why would He say that who I am is a sin?"_

_Eliott sighs, smiling sadly. "I don't know. But He made you, and He made people that are like you, too. He made_ me _, too."_

_Lucas's eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat. "Wh-what do you mean, Eliott?"_

_"I've realized that my heart is a fickle thing," Eliott replies, smiling softly. "It can fall in love with anybody it wants to."_

_Lucas feels himself smile. "Even boys?"_

_Eliott nods, grinning. "Even boys."_

_Lucas's smile falters the slightest bit as a question comes to his mind. But he doesn't let it weigh him down. He lets it spill. "_ _Can it fall in love with me?"_

_Eliott's smile softens, the faintest blush staining his cheeks. "It already has."_

_Lucas's heart doesn't skip a beat this time. It blooms, it flutters, it sighs. His heart doesn't feel wrong right now. It doesn't feel like a well of thick, black ink or a cold, unforgiving stone. Right now, it feels like a garden, the way Lucas has always imagined a heart_ should _feel—rich soil to grow from, sweet fruits and hearty vegetables to taste, fragrant flowers to breathe in. Right now, Lucas hopes he can plant a seed in his new garden. He hopes he can nurture it. He hopes it'll inspire him to grow, too. He hopes this can become like the garden his heart is becoming. He hopes, he hopes, he hopes._

_Eliott rests his forehead against Lucas's, their noses brushing tenderly against each other. Their lips are a breath apart. Lucas's never kissed anyone before. Let alone a boy. Let alone his best friend. But his heart finally says that the time is right, that the person is right. So—gingerly, delicately—he tilts his head and kisses Eliott._

_There's no heat, no hunger. Only the slightest sense of trepidation—the way you cradle the one thing you've always wanted, or the way you sip your morning coffee or evening tea. The way you touch glass, diamonds, gold. It's the fear of the smallest destructions. It's a breath, a blink, a whisper, the ones you wouldn't miss for the world._

_They ease ever so slightly deeper into each other, like the way you ease into a hot bath. The way you wade through the shallow end, the shore, before you trust the waves to hold you, to carry you. Everything is familiar, warm. They know each other better than they know themselves. There's no need to explore, to push and pull. It's like crawling into your bed at night and floating into sleep. It's like coming home. It's like breathing. Nothing has ever been easier. Nothing has ever been more beautiful. Nothing has ever felt more right than this moment._

_Eliott mutters against Lucas's lips that he tastes like sleep. Lucas doesn't know what he means, but he smiles. He tells Eliott how he tastes like peace. Eliott doesn't know what he means, but he smiles. They keep kissing, every touch accentuated with a smile, with an almost giddy giggle. They keep kissing, letting the undefinable tastes they've discovered become familiar, become clear and plain. They keep kissing, the world around them stopping for a moment to admire the moment every turn, every revolution has led to. Lucas wishes the world could literally stop in its tracks. He wishes he could be trapped in this moment forever, with Eliott's lips on his and his strong yet elegant hands tangled in his hair. He wishes he could be trapped so he'll know he'll never have to recite a hypocrite's prayer another miserable night. But slowly, the world returns to normal, and time inches forward once again._

_Lucas's only wish now is that there'll be countless more moments just like this one—moments where everything is_ love.

* * *

_may 29th, 1966_

_02:01_

_caen, france_

~

Lucas has held Eliott's hand the entire car ride to the hospital, and Eliott is surprised he hasn't snapped the poor boy's bones in half. But Lucas doesn't seem to wince or flinch. He just squeezes a little tighter when Eliott does and smooths his thumb across Eliott's knuckles. During a particularly dark part of the drive, Lucas kisses his knuckles, one by one. Eliott feels him whisper against the thin, white skin there, feels his lips and his breath. He doesn't know what Lucas said, but the warmth, the care is comforting through it all.

 _Honey, I need you to get Madeleine to take you to the hospital as soon as she can, okay?_ his mother's voice reminds him shakily, sending a chill down his spine. _Papa... He's getting worse._

Eliott closes his eyes, resting his head on Lucas's shoulder. He lets the soft fabric of Lucas's shirt and his sweet, familiar scent drown out every fear creeping across his mind for a moment. He feels Lucas kiss the top of his head, and he says something else, something he can hear this time.

"Everything will be okay," he whispers, his voice quiet and kind. "And I'm here, _mon amour_. Always."

Eliott nods, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. He bites his lip, fights to keep more tears from falling. His father will be okay. He has to be. He always has been. It's worse this time, but that doesn't mean he won't get better. He _has_ to get better. 

But he knows that's not what Lucas means. Everything will be okay when the wounds start to heal, not when his father make a miraculous recovery and they'll get to go home a happy family once again. Everything will be okay when the grief subsides and Eliott learns to smile again, not when his father can breathe a litte easier once again. Everything will be okay after his father can finally rest, not after he survives tonight only to get sick again by the end of the year. _That's_ what Lucas means, and _that's_ what's bringing the tears to Eliott's eyes. 

Suddenly, the car is drifting to a stop.

"Eliott," Lucas says, shaking him gently. "We're here."

Eliott opens his eyes, and he sees the hospital he's visited a thousand times. But like everything else, it's different this time. His father could be dying in there right now, or dead already. He shakes his head, all the tears he's been holding back suddenly spilling over. 

"Eliott?" Lucas says again, his voice brimming with concern. 

"I can't, Lucas," Eliott sobs. "I can't go in there."

Lucas squeezes Eliott's hand tighter, but he doesn't say a word. He sighs, and Eliott doesn't think he could ever forget the way his breath is shaking. 

"I'll go get Noémie," Madame Lallemant says, unbuckling and opening her door. "Stay with him, Lucas." 

As Madame Lallemant walks away, Lucas sighs. Eliott can _feel_ the pity in his eyes as he studies him. But then he feels Lucas's hand lifting his chin. Their foreheads and noses rest against each other. Eliott is shaking, and he thinks Lucas is, too.

"Eliott, I know this is hard," Lucas begins, stumbling over his words. "But he needs to see you. And you need to see him. And your maman needs you right now, too."

"But what if he's already dead, Lucas?" Eliott chokes out. "What if I walk in there right now and I see Maman crying because he's gone and I was too late? What if I never had the chance to say goodbye? Or what if he is alive right now and I have to watch him die? What if I have to watch _my papa_ die? What if he's awake when it happens and he has to feel it happening to him? What if he dies with his eyes open? What if I look at him and I have to see those eyes? What if Maman and I fall asleep and he doesn't, and then we wake up and he's gone? Or what if we all fall asleep and when we wake up he can't? What if I wake up and he's dead and I have to wake Maman up and tell her? What if I wake up to Maman telling me that he's gone?" He trails off, his whole body trembling with the force of his sobs. "Every possible scenario _terrifies me_ , Lucas. How am I supposed to walk in there knowing that any of them could happen, but that it won't matter because no matter what he's going to die? How are we supposed to live without him? Without Papa?" 

Lucas doesn't respond. Eliott hears him sniffing like he's crying. "I don't know," he finally replies. "But remember what I said? That I'm here. Always. We can just stay together right?"

"They won't let you in his room," Eliott shakes his head. "You and your maman will probably just be in the hallway. You can't be there when I need you most." 

"Maybe…" Lucas stammers. "Maybe they can make an exception. Right?"

Eliott shakes his head again. "That's not how it works, Lucas." 

"Then how can I be there like I promised?" Lucas asks, his voice raised and desperate. "How can I leave you alone like this?" 

"You can be there as much as you can," Eliott replies, still trying to speak through his sobs, his hiccups. "You can hold my hand."

"People will see, Eliott," Lucas mumbles. "They'll know. And so will our parents." 

"I don't care," Eliott croaks. "I don't care if they see or if they know. I want you here. I _need_ you here." 

Lucas pulls away ever so slightly, his gaze shifting to somewhere off in the distance. Softly, he agrees, "I know." 

"Don't let me go, Lucas," Eliott pleads, gently turning Lucas's head back to him. "Please. Not until you need to." 

Lucas pulls Eliott's hand down and kisses from his wrist up to his palm, his lips and cheeks wet against Eliott's skin with tears. "I won't," he whispers. "I love you, Eliott."

"I love you, too," Eliott returns, letting himself smile. 

"Can I kiss you?" Lucas asks carefully, quietly. 

Eliott answers by pulling Lucas closer, their lips slowly finding each other. The kiss is brief, soft, bitter like salt. It's a wave crashing on the shore, both of them breaking together. 

Eliott pulls away. His lips part but no sob comes out. It's a sigh, but not quite of relief. "I'm ready," he says, nodding. "Just don't let go of my hand." 

"I won't," Lucas shakes his head. "I promise." 

Lucas leads Eliott out of the car, not letting go of his hand like he promised. And when his hand shakes, or when a stray sob makes him tremble, Lucas squeezes a little tighter and maintains the gentle, reassuring pressure. Eliott feels _anchored_ , supported and carried as they make their way to the hospital entrance, step by step. He needs to hold onto it as long as he can. He needs to memorize every muscle, every curve of Lucas's hand. He can still have him, even when he's not there.

Eliott pauses as they reach the door, halting Lucas in his tracks. Lucas glances at him, concerned yet patient. "I'm here, Eliott," he says, squeezing Eliott's hand a little tighter. "It's okay."

Eliott nods, taking a deep breath. He keeps walking, and Lucas lets him lead. 

Madame Lallemant and Eliott's mother enter the lobby as Eliott and Lucas do, and a flood of emotions fills Eliott's chest. His mother still has tears running down her cheeks, her eyes bloodshot and her face swollen. She grins when she sees him, but her body is overtaken with sobs. She runs up to him, and he lets go of Lucas's hand and envelops her in a hug. He starts crying again, too, burying his face in his mother's shoulder. They hold each other for a few minutes, relief and fear pulling them closer together. 

"How is he?" Eliott asks as he pulls away, the smallest hope that a miracle has happened burning in his chest.

"He's only getting worse, honey," his mother replies, sniffling. "But he's here right now. And he's been asking for you."

Eliott nods, taking a deep breath. "I'll be right there, Maman, I just... I need a minute."

"Okay," she sighs, brushing the hair out of his face. "We'll be in his room."

Madame Lallemant gives Eliott's mother a brief hug, then leads her down the hallway. Eliott watches as they shrink, as they turn and enter what must be his father's room. He takes another deep breath, trying to compose himself. His father can't see him like this. He doesn't want his last memories of him to be the image of his son heartbroken and weeping. He tries to smile, but his lips are wobbling too much to stay steady and genuine. He feels something brushing against his hand, something familiar. He sighs in relief, latching onto Lucas's hand.

"Thank you," he chokes out, turning to face him. "I'm sorry I let go."

"It was your maman, Eliott," Lucas reassures, shaking his head. He takes Eliott's other hand, their fingers interlocking. "And you weren't the one who promised not to let go. I was."

Eliott nods, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the curves of the back of Lucas's hand. "I know."

"I'll hold your hand as we walk down the hallway," Lucas says. "When you're ready. Okay?"

"Okay," Eliott agrees. "Not just yet, though."

Lucas nods, giving him a sweet, patient smile. It falls, though, and Lucas's eyes turn down to the floor. He leans in, their foreheads touching. He's warm, but he's trembling. Eliott rubs his nose against Lucas's lightly, and he sees a ghost of a smile return to his lips. This smile doesn't last long either.

"How are you?" Eliott asks quietly, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that reminds him he should've asked before.

"He's been like a papa to me," Lucas answers, tearful. "He's been a better father than my own papa has, by leaps and bounds. I don't want him to die either, Eliott. And I can't stand seeing you like this either, but... But he's _your_ papa, Eliott. Not mine. _Your_ grief comes first. Not mine."

"You can be sad, too, Lucas," Eliott replies, squeezing Lucas's hands reassuringly. "It's okay."

Lucas nods, a few sobs ripping from his throat. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, letting go of his hands and pulling him into a hug. "I'm so sorry. This isn't fair. You deserve so much better than all this."

Eliott cries with him, their bodies trembling against each other. Eliott kisses the top of Lucas's head, smoothes his hand over his back. He feels Lucas clinging onto his shirt, the fabric bunching up in his hands. Eliott shakes his head then, replying, "Everything will be okay. Like you said. Right?"

"Yeah," he breathes slowly, sniffling. He kisses Eliott's shoulder, right near the dip of his collarbone. He repeats, "Everything will be okay."

They hold each other a moment longer, their tears drying and their breathing evening out. Eliott weaves his hand into Lucas's hair, gently pressing against his skull, hoping it would bring him just a mite of comfort. "I'm ready when you are," he whispers in his ear.

Lucas takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready."

Their hands find each other again before they fully break the hug. They both squeeze, both cling and cherish. They begin their walk down the hallway, their strides matching and the echoes of their footsteps striking the floor harmonizing. With every step, they squeeze a little tighter, breathing becoming a little harder. They see Madame Lallemant standing outside the door, and they watch her get closer, her image becoming clearer. She must've heard them coming. She turns, smiling sadly when she sees them. Her eyes briefly flick down to their clasped hands, but she looks back up at them almost as quickly. 

"He's been asking for you," she tells Eliott quietly.

Eliott nods, his heart sinking as he realizes that this is the moment Lucas will need to let go. He feels Lucas place his other hand on top of Eliott's, caging it in a warm, soft embrace. Lucas gives one last squeeze, then slowly lets go—palm by palm, knuckle by knuckle. There's the slightest moment where their fingertips barely latch onto each other, but the contact is broken both too slowly and too quickly. Eliott's hand feels so much _colder_ , alone. He curls his fingers into a fist and relaxes slowly, letting the blood flow and the joints loosen. He looks over at Lucas, and he has that same sweet, patient smile on his face. A tear rolls down his cheek, but he quickly wipes it away.

"Thank you _,_ Lucas," Eliott says, his voice clear but quiet.

"You're welcome," Lucas replies, his smile widening. 

Eliott smiles back as much as he can. He takes the deepest breath he can, turning his head forward and walking into his father's room.

He stops just past the door, his heart nearly stopping at the sight. 

His father is paler than he's ever seen him, paler than flour or milk. He's covered in sweat, his hair glued down to his scalp. His lips are blue, almost tinged with purple. His nails are blue, too, and even from where he's standing Eliott can tell that his hands are shaking. His chest trembles uncontrollably as it rises and falls, and his breathing is so shallow and hoarse it doesn't even sound human. His eyes are closed, but they open as Eliott enters. The color is muted, and they're bloodshot, and glazed with an almost milky, shiny film. His father smiles feebly when he sees him, lifting his hand and reaching for him.

"Ellie," he rasps, sitting up and then almost immediately falling into an intense coughing fit. The ventilator mask fogs up, almost hiding his father's lips. His mother quickly stands up, placing a hand on his shoulder and wiping his brow with a cloth. She tries to soothe him, but her voice is thin and choppy. She looks over her shoulder at Eliott, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. 

Eliott is frozen, his blood running cold and everything inside of him telling him to run away. He's never seen his father like this. He thought he'd seen him on the verge of death before, but all those times are nothing compared to what he's seeing now. If he weren't moving and talking, he would look like the corpse he's apparently become. Eliott does everything he can to fight back his tears, fight against his fear. He slowly makes his way to the other side of his father's bed, taking his hand. It's freezing, clammy. Eliott flinches, praying that his father won't notice. He takes a deep breath, gathering his strength as he sits down. 

"You're here," his father says, quieter this time. His smile is still weak.

"I'm here, Papa," Eliott replies, forcing a smile. "I'm here now."

"My boy..." he sighs, becoming tearful. "My little Ellie."

Eliott feels a tear roll down his cheek, but he keeps his smile on his face. "I'm here," he chokes out, squeezing his father's hand.

His father looks over at his mother then. "My darling Noémie."

His mother doesn't respond. She kisses his knuckles, the back of his hand. She opens it and holds it to her face. His father weakly, gently wipes away her tears. 

"I love you both," his father mumbles, glancing between them. "So much."

"I love you, too, Papa," Eliott replies, his voice thick with tears. 

"I love you, too, Eduard," his mother smiles.

"I miss you," his father continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Miss you already."

Eliott can't keep smiling anymore. He lets his sobs wash over him, lets them push him until he bends, burying his face in his father's bedsheets. He clings to his father's hand like a lifeline. But soon, this hand will never ruffle Eliott's hair again or pat him on his back or his shoulder. This hand will never cradle his mother's face again or help her with the clasp on her necklace or the buttons on her dress. Soon, this hand will grow even colder, and never hold anything again. This hand will soon forever lay on his father's chest, guarding his still, dead heart. This hand will soon wither until it's nothing but old, sick bones. Now is the last time Eliott will ever hold his father's hand while there was still blood running through it, while there was still a living brain to tell it to move and hold and love. Now is the last time Eliott will hold the hand that shaped him, that taught him that kindness and bravery are the same thing, that reminded him that life is the most precious gift that we receive. How can Eliott live without this hand? He holds it in both of his hands, holds it tighter, kisses every inch of it. He bathes it with his tears, washes it with the words he'll never get to say to him. Perhaps his father's bones will remember. Perhaps the memory will echo throughout the earth. Perhaps it'll reach his father somehow. Perhaps it'll reach up to heaven.

"You're a brave, strong boy, Eliott," his father says softly. "Know that you'll learn to miss me and smile at the same time."

Eliott lifts his head and looks up. His father is smiling, wider and a little stronger. He feels his mother place her hand on top of his. She smiles at him, too, ever kind and loving. Eliott smiles back, weakly but genuinely. "Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Maman. Thank you."

The night wears on, time passing gently by as they live in memory, their tongues spilling with echoes of laughter and singing. There's a haze in the room—a pleasant one. One perfumed with love and understanding and joy, stained with flushed faces and swelling hearts. They smile. They cry tears of mirth and joy. They don't let go of each other. They abandon the world outside and only focus on what matters in this moment: their happy family. Eduard, Noémie, and Eliott. Husband, wife, and child. Kindness, empathy, and joy. What more could they ever need? If you had asked Eliott only an hour ago, he would've said more time. But they don't need more time. If this is the time God has given them, why waste it then ask for more? If this is the time God has given them, He knows that it's all they need. He knows that this time that He's made is beautiful, perfect, sacred. God had given them sorrow and grief moments before, but He made way for joy and healing, too. They don't know what will happen once Eliott's father breathes his last breath, but that's time God has set for them in the future. God will protect Eduard Demaury. When it's time, He will take his hand and guide him home. Perhaps He will leave a blessing for Noémie and Eliott, one of comfort and peace. God is kind. God is loving. God will not abandon them. And that's why they have such _joy_.

As God prepares to take another one of His children in His arms, the Demaury family falls asleep together for the last time.

* * *

_may 29th, 1966_

_06:43_

_caen, france_

~

_Outside Lucas's window, the waves hiss against the shore and retreat quickly back into the sea. They slide against each other, the sand clinging onto the water and the water squirming away, foaming in agony The wind is quiet today, suddenly aware of something else that has appeared in the air—a discordant note from a piano, or maybe a misstroke on a typewriter. The moon has faded from the sky for a moment, but the sun is having his turn. He seems to rise a little slower, as if he's afraid of bring this day to pass. He seems to be burning a little hotter, too, as if he were angry or in grief. He roars, rumbles, "This is the storm, this is the war, this is the burning heat. Brave through, my warriors. To be brave is to be lifeless, to be feeble. All I ask is that you remember, still, to be cruel all the while."_

_Inside Lucas's room, the only light is the rising sun filtering through his window. Its rays shine on clean, pristine pages filled with Eliott's drawings that he studies longingly, his heart heavy in his chest. He hated leaving him there at the hospital, but he thought his sketchbooks would make him feel better. Besides, his mother wanted to leave and get breakfast made and bring it back to the hospital. He left a note for him, too, so Eliott will know where he is and that they'll be back by seven, just in case. He just hopes nothing will happen until they get back. He doesn't want Eliott to be alone when it happens. He wants to be there to hold him, like Eliott did when Lucas's father left that one night. He hopes now, too, that he'll finally have the right words to say to him. Not like last night, not like when he visited Eliott when he couldn't leave his bed for two weeks. He has to be a good friend, a good boyfriend. Eliott needs him._

_Outside, a tap on his window startles him from his thoughts._ Eliott _, he thinks._ Monsieur Demaury.

_He rushes over and opens his window, a summer breeze sweeping over them. Eliott is standing there, his eyes bleary with tears, his cheeks rosy from the heat, his hand hovered by his mouth with his nails between his teeth. He's trying to stay quiet, hold back the sobs. He's shivering._

_Lucas helps Eliott through the window, making sure he lands softly onto the carpet. He takes Eliott's face in his hands, the question he already knows the answer to getting caught on his tongue. But once Lucas's skin meets Eliott's, all his sobs escape. He throws his arms around Lucas. With a trembling breath, with a hiccup, he confirms the answer Lucas had in his mind: "He's dead, Lucas."_

_Still, Lucas's heart drops to his feet. He holds Eliott as tightly as he can. He feels his tears soaking through his shirt, feels his body trembling with the force of his sobs. He feels tears of his own wet his cheeks. He doesn't say a word. He lets Eliott cry. He waits for Eliott, patiently, gently._

_Once Eliott starts to calm down, Lucas slowly guides him to his bed, laying him down gently. He lies down next to him, pulling him close. Words start to spill out of Eliott's mouth before Lucas could find his own words, the right ones._

_"I woke up when I heard something clatter," Eliott starts, his voice thin. "I look up, and I see a nurse staring at Papa. She dropped the clipboard with his chart on it. Then she started yelling for the doctor, asking for a crash cart. And then I looked at him and... His eyes were open, Lucas. There was no color in them. He was looking out the window. He was awake when it happened. He felt all of it. And I was so_ afraid _of that, Lucas. We all fell asleep. I thought maybe he would die in his sleep but he didn't. He was awake. I think I screamed when I saw him. And I woke Maman up and I think she screamed, too. The nurse took our hands and led us out of the room as a bunch of people ran into the room. They shut the door behind them, but I could hear them yelling at each other. Then it got quiet. Then the door opened and the doctor told us that they did everything they could but he was dead. He said we could see him, so he took us inside—"_

_Eliott starts to crumble again, more rivers of tears streaming down his face. "I didn't recognize him. His skin was almost gray. And his lips were so blue. And his eyes were closed. And he was dead."_

_Lucas holds him tighter, his chest getting sore from holding back his tears._

_"Papa's gone, Lucas," Eliott weeps, clinging to Lucas's shirt. "And he's not coming back. He's dead. After all those times he got sick and he got better he finally got too sick. The doctors finally couldn't save him. There were so many times where I thought he would die but then he didn't and I remember how_ happy _I would be. But he's dead. He's really dead this time. We'll have to tell everyone that he's dead and have a funeral and sing his favorite hymns and I'll have to look at him lying in his coffin and then we'll have to bury him by pouring handfuls of dirt over him and say goodbye for what might be forever and—"_

_"Eliott," Lucas begs, his voice breaking. "It's okay. I'm here, like I promised."_

_Lucas feels completely helpless as he holds Eliott tighter, his words failing him once again and grief filling his chest. So, he promises him that everything will be okay. No matter how far time stretches away from him, no matter how many tears he sheds, no matter how much it feels like his world is crashing around his ears. He promises him that he's not alone. And a small part of Lucas hopes he isn't lying to him through his teeth._

* * *

_june 4th, 1966_

_12:02_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott's hand shakes, the smallest mites of dirt slipping through his fingers. He doesn't want to open his hand and let it all fall onto his father's coffin, reducing him to the dust that he came from. He doesn't want the dirt to keep piling up until his father is completely buried, never to be seen again in this life, on this earth. When he lets go of the dirt in his hand, he'll be letting go of his father. He's not ready to. But the minister is reciting the prayer much more quickly than Eliott hoped he would, the fateful words making their way to the tip of his tongue. So, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, hoping it separates him enough from his body that his mind will take over.

"We commend to Almighty God our brother Eduard Demaury, and we commit his body to its resting place: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

Eliott opens his eyes, and he sees his hand open and empty, remnants of dust staining the palm of his hand. He sees the small handfuls spread across his father's coffin, the beginning of the end.

"The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make His face to shine upon him and be gracious to him, the Lord lift up His countenance upon him and give him peace."

There's a chorus of "amen"s, but Eliott's voice doesn't join it. They recite the Lord's Prayer, but Eliott keeps his silence. He only raises his voice to heaven as the congregation is invited to, as the minister prays over the people. But his voice is weak, broken. His words are nonsensical, desperate rambles. But they drown out the words of the prayers, another countless chorus of "amen"s. It keeps his head bowed, keeps his eyes downward so he doesn't have to see everyone looking at him with such pity. It keeps his eyes away from his mother. He thinks he could die if he looks into her wet eyes for more than a few seconds. He never thought he would see his mother in such pain. So, he keeps his head bowed, says his pointless, powerless prayer. 

He doesn't sing "Lead, Kindly Light." All he can hear is his father singing this hymn in masses and around the house. He can hear his father's voice getting weaker, thinner as the years burn on in his memory. Now, he can't hear his father's voice singing his favorite hymn, and he doesn't know if he can sing it ever again without his father's voice supporting him. His mother doesn't sing, either, too consumed with her tears. He can hear Lucas's voice somewhere behind him, its warm timbre guiding Eliott along every word, every lilt of every note. The hymn seems to drag on. Somewhere, in the back of Eliott's mind, he hopes that the more than familiar melody is realizing that this is the first time his father won't sing it. He hopes that it's mourning, too; weeping and groaning as it tries to accept that it will never be the same again, that it's already changing at the hands of someone else, the hands they can't control. 

Then, all at once, the song ends, and silence crashes over the cemetery and the congregation. Eliott hasn't cried a single tear today, but the deafening _boom_ of it leaves him with a lump in his throat and an urge to bite down on the inside of his cheek. He knows that this is the first of many silences. This is the silence after the burial. There will be a silence after every birthday and every anniversary, a silence every time someone mentions his father's name, a silence every time Eliott tells someone he's just met that his father is dead. There will forever be a silence where his father once stood, silence where he once would've spoken and laughed. The weight of his father's absence, the weight of his father's coffin is something he could never forget. But there'll be people wanting to bear a bit of the weight themselves, and there'll be people that will try to fill all those silences. People sharing their own stories of losing their father, or rambling about how they could never even imagine what Eliott went through. People apologizing a thousand times for his loss. People offering him advice and telling him that they're for him if they need him. These silences will be filled with a million good intentions, and that's why Eliott knows that he can't bear hearing it.

This first silence fills quickly. The congregation says their last goodbyes to him and his mother, and most of their words don't quite reach his ears. His mother hugs most of them, so she doesn't cling to him as much as she has the whole funeral. He thinks that's why he hasn't cried yet. He's a rock right now, his mother's rock. But the weight of his mother is becoming too much for him to carry. He loves her with all of his heart, but that doesn't make him strong enough to show it. He loved his father with all his heart, but it wasn't strong enough to save him. So, he stands to the side, nodding vaguely at muddled voices, weakly shaking blurred hands. 

His friends talk to him, too. Manon, Daphné, Alexia, Emma, and Imane all give him a tight, warm hug and give him sweet, genuine smiles. He believes them when they tell him he'll be okay. Basile hugs him so tightly he can't breathe, but he can hear Basile sniffling and see him try and hold back his tears. It's comforting. Arthur and Yann both linger a moment, asking him if he needed anything. He doesn't know how to answer, so he shrugs but thanks them for coming. They both pull him in for a tight hug. Sofiane and Idriss hold him for a while, too, whispering everything he needs to hear in his ear.

The last person he sees is Lucas, after everyone else has already left. He started crying as he played the first hymn during the mass, and Eliott can tell he hasn't really stopped since. He's trapping and squeezing his hand again, only this time he seems close to crushing it and shattering the bones. Eliott steps toward him, carefully placing his hands over Lucas's. He gently breaks them apart, taking them in his own. Lucas's hands are cold, shaking. Eliott wants to steady them, but he can only imagine how cold his own hands are, how much they're trembling. Thunder rumbles above them, the clouds darkening and shards of lightning bursting out of them. Their eyes meet. There are a thousand things hidden in Lucas's eyes—memories they share of Eliott's father, memories of the father he got but didn't deserve, memories of losing both of them so suddenly and when he was so young. And through all of that, what shines through in his eyes is pain, grief, and _understanding_. 

The clouds break open, and so does Eliott, washing and cleansing the earth with rain and tears. He falls into Lucas's arms, heaving with his sobs. Lucas holds him tightly, carefully helping him to the ground as he crumbles. He gently rocks him, pulling him closer to his chest to shield him from the rain. All Eliott can hear is Lucas's heartbeat, strong and steady. All he can smell is the rain and the sea salt that always seems to linger on Lucas's skin. All he can feel is Lucas's arms around him, his lips on his forehead, his hairline, the top of his head. All his world consists of now is Lucas, and the world outside is a breath away, but Eliott can't quite breathe right now anyway. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, his lungs all seem to be overflowing with tears, suffocating him more than it ever has before. At least he knows that if he drowns he'll rest in the safest place he knows. At least he knows Lucas will never let him go.

* * *

_july 20th, 1966_

_06:00_

_caen, france_

~

 _Lucas wakes from the first full night of sleep he's had in a month to someone kissing him. He startles a bit at first, but he opens his eyes and sees Eliott's face smiling at him the way he used to before his papa died. Lucas can't see Eliott's eyes they're so squinted, but he_ missed _those crinkles by his eyes._

 _"Good morning,_ mon amour _," Eliott almost sings, rubbing their noses together._

 _"Morning, darling," Lucas hums, smiling back sleepily. He pulls Eliott close and kisses him,_ melts _into him. He must've had tea before he left his house. The fragrant taste of it is staining his lips, his teeth, his tongue. It makes Lucas smile even more, warmth softening the edges that kept him and Eliott from becoming one person again. He could almost fall asleep again right here, with Eliott's fingers in his hair and on his neck, his lips against Eliott's, their heartbeats embracing each other. He almost does, but Eliott kisses him a little deeper, their noses smushing against each other. He chuckles, pulling away slightly. "You're feeling better?" he asks hopefully, breathlessly._

_Eliott nods. "Things are going back to normal," he replies, his voice sweet and melodious. "I'm starting to feel like myself again."_

_Lucas grins, his heart warming and glowing in his chest. "Really?"_

_"Mm-hmm," Eliott beams, nodding. "What about you?"_

_Lucas kisses the tip of Eliott's nose, and somehow it makes him smile even wider. "If you're happy, I'm happy."_

_Eliott kisses him again, soft and sweet and gentle. Lucas missed kissing Eliott so_ much _. He knows the time has never been right to kiss him like this again, but he's felt it starting to come again the past week or two. Eliott's been smiling more, talking more. He's started taking more pictures with his camera, reading books again, laughing at jokes on the TV again. He's been eating again. Not much, but more than he has before. Lucas's been waiting for the right moment for everything to return to normal, but he didn't need to try and see if the moment was right, because Eliott beat him to it. Eliott was the one who kissed him first, and Lucas can kiss him back without worrying about crossing a line._

_"I have a big day planned for us today," Eliott says after a moment, sitting up._

_"Oh, yeah?" Lucas smiles, sitting up, too._

_"Well, 'planned' isn't the best word," Eliott admits, chuckling. "But I have some ideas. Like, we could have breakfast at the bakery and lunch at the bistro. Then run around town and go in all the shops and buy a bunch of stuff."_

_"I don't have any money, love," Lucas laughs, leaning his head on Eliott's shoulder._

_"I'll buy you anything you want," Eliott promises, grinning._

_"Promise?" Lucas challenges, raising his eyebrows._

_"Promise," Eliott nods, giggling. He pulls Lucas close, and his face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He plants small kisses there, breathes in Eliott's smell, his skin. He closes his eyes, laughing along. Eliott pulls Lucas away so their eyes meet, taking his face in his hands. "Anything for my Lu," he grins._

_Lucas goes to kiss Eliott one more time, but Eliott backs away, tousling Lucas's hair. "We have a long day ahead of us," he says. "We have to get started as soon as we can."_

_Lucas rolls his eyes, but he chuckles. "I'll go get ready." He gives Eliott a kiss on the cheek as he gets out of bed, and the blush on Eliott's cheeks makes him blush, too. The warmth, the fuzziness, carries him to the bathroom where he quickly brushes his teeth. His mother isn't awake as far as he knows as he walks back to his room, but he makes sure to remember to tell her where they'll be before they leave._

_When he opens his door he sees Eliott lying in his bed on his stomach. He grins again when he sees Lucas, almost jumping up and bounding over to him._

_"I was gone for a minute," Lucas giggles as Eliott rubs their noses together again._

_"I missed you," Eliott shrugs, kissing him softly. He smiles, small yet content. "I like your toothpaste."_

_Lucas's brow furrows, but he chuckles fondly. "Thank you?"_

_"You're welcome?" Eliott replies teasingly, kissing Lucas's forehead. "Let's get you dressed so we can go."_

_"Okay," Lucas snickers. "Are we in a hurry?"_

_"The sun is only up for so long,_ mon amour _," Eliott reminds him. "It's rising right now, and I plan on staying under it as long as we can today."_

_Lucas's brow furrows again. "Okay."_

_"When the sun sets we can go back to your house, or maybe we can go to mine," Eliott suggests, taking Lucas's hands. "We can fall asleep in each other's arms tonight and wake up in the same place in the morning. Does that sound good?"_

_Lucas smiles, blush staining his cheeks a much deeper scarlet. "That sounds amazing."_

_Eliott tilts Lucas's chin and brings their lips together, Lucas melting once again. Eliott pulls away far too quickly, guiding Lucas towards his closet. Lucas pouts to try and distract him again, but Eliott starts looking through his shirts._

_"You should wear this one," Eliott says, holding one up to Lucas._

_"It's just a red t-shirt, Ellie," Lucas laughs. "I didn't even know you gave this one back to me however long ago."_

_"Yeah, but you could wear it with those blue shorts," Eliott replies, grabbing the shorts he's talking about. "It's simple, but you look amazing in anything."_

_Lucas wishes Eliott would stop making him blush. "Okay. I'll wear them."_

_He starts changing into the outfit and putting on his shoes, and Eliott's grin once he's finished makes his heart flutter. Lucas kisses him again, unable to resist the urge. "Ready to go, my love?" Lucas asks softly._

_Eliott nods excitedly, almost bouncing._

_"Let me tell Maman we're leaving first," Lucas smiles. "Meet me at the front door."_

_Eliott kisses him goodbye, walking out of Lucas's room._

_Lucas makes his way to his mother's room, carefully opening her door. She's still asleep. He doesn't want to wake her, so he borrows a sheet of paper from a notebook she keeps by her bed._

Eliott and I are going to be out for the day. We should be back around dinnertime. 

_He scribbles a little heart beside it, leaving it on top of the notebook. He leaves her room as quietly as he can, closing the door behind him. He grins when he sees Eliott waiting patiently yet excitedly by the front door. Eliott opens it for him, bowing politely. "After you,_ mon amour _."_

_Lucas blushes again as he bows in return and goes out the door. Eliott leaves, too, then puts his arm around Lucas, pulling him a little closer. Lucas rests his head on Eliott's shoulder, kissing the spot where his collarbone is just barely exposed. He wants to get in one last display of affection before they go into town and have to hide again. He can't deny that it hurts that he can only love Eliott in the dark or behind closed doors, but he can't deny that they need to value and protect their safety as well._

_"I'll race you down the street," Eliott proposes, snapping Lucas out of his reverie._

_"Like when we were kids?" Lucas replies, grinning._

_"Like when we were kids," Eliott echoes, nodding. "Are you up for a race?"_

_"You're on," Lucas confirms smugly._

_"All right. The race starts_ now _!" Eliott shouts, bolting down the street._

_Lucas blinks, stumbling to a running start. "That's not fair! Cheater!" he yells with a laugh._

_"Like when we were kids!" Eliott calls back over his shoulder. His laughter bounces off the boiling asphalt and fills the air, becoming the wind that shakes the trees and ruffles Lucas's hair. Lucas could listen to him laugh forever._

_He gains speed, quickly whizzing past Eliott. Eliott always found a way to give himself the early advantage, but he was never as fast as Lucas. Eliott always made jokes about Lucas being tiny and "more aerodynamic", and they always made Lucas blush but laugh, too._

_He hears his feet striking the asphalt, then hears Eliott's feet just after. Their footsteps have become echoes of each other. They've become something close to music. This morning, the world will wake up to this noise, and Lucas falters as he wonders if people will hear the same sweet music he's hearing. Their footsteps, Eliott's laughter, Lucas's own heartbeat drumming in his ears. There could never be a more beautiful piece of music, right?_

_Eliott starts to pull ahead again. "Will I finally beat Lucas Lallemant in a race?" he asks teasingly, out of breath._

_Lucas shakes his head, smirking. "Not today." He calls on his last bit of stamina and surges ahead, letting his footfalls propel him forward and forward. He can just see the town in the distance, and just ahead of him is the old, weathered sign that they both designated as the finish line years ago. He slows to a jog as he approaches it, leaning against it and smiling smugly. Eliott isn't too far behind him, though, catching up a few seconds later._

_"I was much closer that time," Eliott sighs, trying to catch his breath._

_Lucas rolls his eyes. "Sure you were."_

_Eliott tries to respond, but he only huffs, slowly sitting himself down on the ground._

_"Do we need a breather?" Lucas laughs, sitting down next to him._

_Eliott nods, then lies down on his back. "Yes, please."_

_"You've lost your touch," Lucas points out teasingly, fixing the sweaty hair glued to Eliott's forehead._

_"Shut up," Eliott chuckles, sighing. "Oh, what are we going to do when we get old?"_

_"Will we be racing down this street when we're 80 years old?" Lucas asks, chuckling softly._

_"Maybe we will," Eliott shrugs. "Can't you see us growing old together, though?"_

_Lucas's heart warms as he considers the thought. He nods, his lips spreading into a grin. "I can."_

_"I don't think we'll be here, though," Eliott says, reaching to cradle Lucas's face. "We'll be living in Giverny. By Monet's gardens. We'll be secretly married. We'll have this cute, little cottage. We paint together all day and hold each other all night. Your hair will be white and it'll make your eyes look even bluer. You'll still be so beautiful and I'll wonder why you ever settled for someone like me. But we'll be happy. We will have spent almost every second of our lives together but we wouldn't have it any other way. Can't you see it, Lucas?"_

_There are tears in Lucas's eyes as he nods. "But I think you'll still be beautiful, too, my love. How could you ever not be? I mean, look at you!"_

_Eliott blushes, running his thumb over Lucas's cheekbone. Gently, he pulls Lucas down towards him. Lucas lets himself fall, closing the space between them with a sweet, passionate kiss. He can't stop smiling, and neither can Eliott. Their teeth knock against each other and Eliott accidentally bites Lucas's lip. He tries to apologize but he starts laughing, pulling Lucas close. The gentle tremble shaking Eliott's body as he giggles is comforting as it starts to ripple through Lucas, too. He can taste blood, but it doesn't matter. He's giggling, too, and it's hard to stop._

_"I love you, Lulu," Eliott says through his laughter, almost wheezing._

_"I love you, too, Ellie," Lucas returns, his laughter turning into a content sigh. "I love you, too."_

* * *

_july 20th, 1966_

_14:16_

_caen, france_

~

_Lucas misses holding Eliott's hand already, but more and more people are arriving in town, browsing the shops and eating at the restaurants. It's strangely busy for a Wednesday, but the weather today is much milder than it has been for the past couple of weeks. Nevertheless, the large crowd that only seems to keep growing is making Lucas more nervous than he wants to admit. He's not holding hands with Eliott or being affectionate towards him, but he still feels like people are staring at them, drawing conclusions. He knows he's being paranoid, but he can't deny the turning of his stomach or the racing of his heart._

_But when he looks over at Eliott, he looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. He's scanning the crowd with a small smile on his face, and he has a bounce in his step that Lucas can't keep up with. Eliott has always been more easygoing than Lucas, but the fact that he doesn't seem worried at all is frankly confusing to Lucas. With all these people around them, who knows who might notice something, and who knows who might get confrontational or even violent?_

_"There's a lot of people here, Eliott," Lucas says, trying to give him a hint that he's uncomfortable. "Maybe we should go home."_

_"No, not yet," Eliott replies, looking over at Lucas. "There's one more shop I want you to see. They have these clothes that would look great on you. I just need to remember where it is."_

_"You don't know where it is?" Lucas asks, his worry starting to grow._

_"I have a vague idea," Eliott reassures him, though the effort falls flat.  
_

_"Do you at least remember what it's called?" Lucas tries, starting to fidget. He clasps one hand over the other, squeezing tightly._

_"I'll know it when I see it, Lucas," Eliott responds, chuckling. He points ahead of them at a corner. "I'm pretty sure it's just around there. Don't worry,_ mon _amour."_

_"Don't call me that here," Lucas almost hisses, trying to keep his voice down. "There's too many people."_

_"It's okay, Lu," Eliott says again, emphasizing every syllable. "Everything's okay."_

_They turn the corner, and there seems to be significantly fewer people in this part of town. Lucas feels himself relax a little, let out a sigh of relief._

_"See?" Eliott smiles. "Everything's okay."_

_"Everything's okay," Lucas repeats, nodding and managing a smile._

_"I can see it!" Eliott grins, starting to jog down the street._

_"Eliott, slow down!" Lucas calls after him, laughing._

_Eliott stops by a shop halfway down the street, holding the door open. Lucas slows down, quickly trying to catch his breath. He smiles and nods at Eliott then enters the store. His mouth drops open as he sees displays of shirts with outrageous patterns and pants in colors Lucas never thought should be worn on people's bodies. He chuckles, looking back at Eliott over his shoulder. "I would look great in these?" he asks, waving his arm vaguely at the clothes._

_"I know it's a little gaudy," Eliott shrugs, smiling almost bashfully. "But there's some things here I think you'll really like. Just give it a chance. It might surprise you."_

_Lucas sighs, nodding. "Okay. Lead the way, I guess."_

_Eliott grins, bounding over to the first rack of clothes he sees. He scans through them, occasionally looking up at Lucas then back down at a piece of clothing. The first thing he pulls out is a navy blue shirt with a red and green paisley pattern that makes Lucas bite his lip to keep from laughing. Eliott notices, though, tilting his head to the side._

_"What's wrong with it?" Eliott asks, holding it up to Lucas's chest. "I think it would look really good on you. It's blue, so it'll make your eyes look even prettier."_

_"I'll have to try it on," Lucas shrugs, chuckling. He feels a blush burning in his cheeks. "We could have a little fashion show in my room when we get back."_

_Eliott's eyes light up, and his grin spreads even wider on his face. "I love that idea. So, you'll give it a shot?"_

_"I'll give it a shot," Lucas agrees, nodding._

_Eliott_ jumps _, his eyes sparkling and squinting. Lucas grins, too, his heart warming again. The old Eliott is coming back. He's standing in front of him, smiling so hard Lucas feels his own cheeks hurt. The old Eliott is coming back!_

_Eliott shows him several shirts and pants and shorts that he would never wear in a million years, but they all make Eliott smile, so Lucas agrees to them. He doesn't know when something else might happen to take his smile away. He wants that smile to stay on Eliott's face as long as it can, and if he can help it stay, he'll do whatever he can to do so._

_"Lucas!" Eliott gasps, pulling two things off the rack. They're two blue and white striped two-piece sets, a button-up shirt and shorts. One looks like Lucas's size and one looks like Eliott's size. "We could match!" he proposes, grinning like an idiot while he waits for Lucas's response._

_Lucas, unfortunately, is speechless. He lets out a laugh, shrugging. Dumbly, he replies, "I love it."_

_"Perfect!" Eliott almost squeals, adding them to the stack of clothes he's carrying in his other arm._

_"Hey, Eliott," Lucas says, noticing him struggling with the weight. "We should probably go ahead and check out. I mean, do you even have the money for all this stuff?"_

_"Of course I do," Eliott replies, adjusting his stack. "I promised I'd buy you anything you wanted. And this is getting pretty heavy."_

_"Here, I'll take it," Lucas offers, giving Eliott a smile. Eliott smiles back at him, carefully placing the stack in his arms. Lucas stumbles a little, huffing. "Yeah, let's go."_

_Eliott giggles as he helps Lucas to the register, the clothes clattering loudly on the counter._

_"So sorry," Lucas apologizes, breathless._

_"Oh, don't worry," the cashier replies, whose nametag says 'Lucille.' She has short, brown hair and kind eyes, maybe only a year or two older than them. "I end up buying too many clothes here, too, and I work here," she adds with a smile. "So, I completely understand."_

_As she rings up their items, Lucas looks over and sees Eliott pulling out a large bundle of money from his pocket. His eyes widen as he sees him pull out 10 and 20 franc notes and hand them to Lucille._

_"Here's your change," she smiles, placing notes and coins in his hand. "Thank you so much for shopping with us!"_

_Eliott waves her a quick goodbye as he takes their bag of clothes. Lucas waves goodbye, too, then rushes to catch back up with Eliott._

_"Where'd you get all that money, Eliott?" he asks, trying to keep his voice down._

_"Maman," Eliott replies a little too quickly._

_"She has that much money lying around?" Lucas questions, his brow furrowing._

_"We have a jar at home," Eliott answers, his words almost stumbling over each other. "We put money it to have just in case something happens. And I promised you I would buy you anything you wanted, so I took some money from it for today."_

_"Does your maman know?" he presses, hoping he'll get the answer he wants._

_"Of course she does," Eliott confirms, shrugging. "I'll put whatever I have leftover back in the jar. Everything's okay. Right?"_

_Lucas nods, unconvinced. "Right."_

_"Good," Eliott nods. "Let's get home."_

_Lucas sighs as an uneasiness he can't ignore settles beneath his skin. Still, he walks beside Eliott. They walk down the same road they raced on this morning and countless times throughout the years. They don't talk very much, but Lucas keeps catching Eliott staring at him. He blushes, like always, but his unease gets worse every time._

_"You're beautiful, Lucas," Eliott says at one point, smiling sweetly. "You know that?"_

_Lucas lets himself smile. "You tell me all the time," he chuckles, shrugging._

_"I mean it," Eliott replies, his voice soft but confident. "You... You seemed a little upset so I thought I would tell you."_

_"I'm not upset," Lucas shakes his head, sighing. "All the money freaked me out I guess."_

_"You didn't think I stole it, did you?" Eliott asks quietly, his brow furrowed._

_"No, no," Lucas answers quickly. "No, but... I wasn't really thinking anything, I... I don't know."_

_"No, it's okay, Lucas," Eliott dismisses, smiling weakly. "Just know that I didn't rob a bank or anything, okay?"_

_"I know," Lucas smiles back, nodding. Silence passes, and Lucas's smile widens as he has an idea to make Eliott smile a little wider, too. "Am I the most beautiful person you've ever seen?"_

_Lucas's plan works. Eliott chuckles, nodding. "Yes, Lucas. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."_

_"More beautiful than Yann?" Lucas teases. "Arthur? Idriss? Sofiane?"_

_"Yes, Lucas," Eliott laughs. "More beautiful than Yann, Arthur, Idriss, and Sofiane."_

_"What about the girls?" Lucas presses, Eliott's smile widening even more._

_"You're more beautiful than all of them, too," Eliott nods. "You're the man of my dreams."_

_Lucas feels his cheeks get red hot. "What was that?"_

_Eliott stops, holding Lucas's face in his hands. "You're the man of my dreams, Lucas Lallemant," he repeats, his voice spilling like honey._

_Lucas kisses him as he says his name, his worry beginning to melt away. "You're pretty great, too, Eliott Demaury," Lucas smirks once they pull away._

_Eliott rolls his eyes, putting his arm around Lucas. Lucas nuzzles his face into Eliott's neck, breathing him in as they walk down the last stretch of street before their houses._

_"Maman isn't home," Lucas says as he looks up, noticing her car isn't in the driveway. "Maybe she's getting groceries."_

_"Do you wanna wait until she gets back to try on all your new clothes?" Eliott asks, gently shaking the bag from the store._

_"I think so, actually," Lucas nods. "But we can try on our matching outfits if you want."_

_"Yes!" Eliott grins, nodding eagerly. He starts running down the driveway, dragging Lucas behind him. Lucas yelps at the yank on his arm, but dissolves into chuckles._

_"Someone's excited," Lucas comments teasingly as they enter through the front door. His words are cut off as he's pushed against the wall and Eliott's lips are suddenly on his. He hears the bag crash onto the floor as he kisses Eliott back, weaving his hands into his hair. He giggles as they break for a moment. "_ Very _excited," he breathes, grinning._

_Eliott picks up the bag and Lucas takes his hand, guiding him to his room. He shuts the door behind them just in case, leaning against it and breathing out a content sigh. He looks over at Eliott, who's sitting on his bed, and their eyes meet. Eliott grins, his head tilting ever so slightly. Lucas grins back, walking over to him. He looks in the bag and pulls out their matching outfits, unable to hold back his laugh this time. It's adorable, really, and Lucas never thought he would buy matching outfits with his boyfriend, especially when his boyfriend ends up being his best friend._

_Eliott laughs, too, grabbing his outfit from Lucas's hand. "We'll wear this on our wedding day."_

_Lucas smiles, remembering their conversation from this morning. "Will the wedding be in Giverny, too?"_

_Eliott nods vigorously. "It'll be at midnight, when the moon is all silvery on the water. It'll just be the two of us. And the officiant, of course."_

_Lucas sits by Eliott on the bed, starting to blush again. "Who'll officiate?" he asks, waiting to cling onto every word of Eliott's answer._

_"For some reason, in my head, I see the girl at the register," Eliott replies, almost giggling. "Because if she didn't say anything when we bought these, I'm sure she won't mind marrying us. What was her name? Lucy?"_

_"Lucille, I think," Lucas corrects, then shrugs. "You were close, though."_

_"Lucille will officiate," Eliott nods, starting to fidget with stray strands of Lucas's hair. "I can see us kissing as husbands until the sun rises and people see us."_

_"What do they do?" Lucas asks, the thought starting to wipe the smile off of his face. "When they see us?"_

_"See, they get outrageously jealous because they know they'll never have a love like ours," Eliott answers, a shine Lucas doesn't recognize filling his eyes. "They'll never break into every parallel universe and fill all of them with their love like we do. So, they come at us with pitchforks and torches and chase after us, cursing our names and the love we have and spitting on us until we're soaking wet. But, we get away. We outrun them because we're so much stronger than them. They're sweating buckets and they can't quite catch their breaths, but we're fine. We barely broke a sweat and breathing is easier than it has been before. We look over our shoulders as we keep running, and we_ smile _."_

_Lucas isn't sure how to respond. If Eliott's words were stumbling over each other before, they're bleeding into each other now. They're a thousand colors mixing until they form a brown, muddy puddle, until they're almost indecipherable as distinct sentences and thoughts. He's never really heard Eliott talk like this before. Like he would explode if he didn't get all his words out. He manages a smile, shrugging dumbly. "What do we do after that?" he asks weakly._

_"We keep running," Eliott replies, as if it were obvious. "What if all those people start chasing us again? Are we supposed to wait there like sitting ducks, only running again when they're right on our tails? No. We keep running. We're holding each other's hands like we always do, and we push each other forward. If we run faster, we could move the whole earth until it's night again and we can hide like we did on our wedding night. We can't hide in the dark forever, but we have each other, and we'll have each other forever, and that's enough. That's more than enough. In fact, as we keep running every morning, and as we keep hiding every night, we don't need water and food to survive anymore. We just need each other. That's all we need to survive. That's all we need to keep our hearts beating. And we run faster and faster until every grain of soil in the world has kissed our feet, until we've traveled the whole world. Before we know it, the whole world is whispering about Lucas and Eliott. They call us something cheesy and cliched like the Fleet-footed Lovers or something, but we don't mind. They talk about how they want a love as powerful as ours. They go around looking for their other Fleet-footed Lover. People propose using those words. 'Will you be my Fleet-footed Lover?' The whole world will know about us, Lucas. And they won't care that we're two boys in love. We'll make all of them realize that the love between two boys is even more powerful than a love between a boy and a girl. We'll_ change the world _,_ mon amour _. We'll build a new one with our feet, with our clasped hands, and as people have babies and raise them, they'll tell them about the Creators. They'll talk about_ us _. Lucas and Eliott. The Fleet-footed Lovers. We'll create a whole new world, and it'll ripple through all of our parallel universes._ We _will do this. We_ will _."_

 _Lucas almost doesn't recognize Eliott. Everything about him is_ wide _. His grin, his too bright eyes, his hair pointing frantically in every direction. He's a hole, opening up and looking to swallow up whatever gets too close to him. He's gaping, yawning, his chest a cavern Lucas feels too anxious to traverse alone. His words, his illusions of grandeur were enough to send all the dissipated worry back into the pit of Lucas's stomach, but this face, this body in front of him makes it sink even further, nearly reaching his toes. Lucas feels his mouth go dry, feels his throat close up._

_"Wh-what about our cottage?" he chokes out, taking Eliott's hand in his. "What about painting all day and holding each other all night? Can we not do that anymore? Are we too busy becoming these epic, legendary lovers?"_

_"No, we'll still do all those things,_ mon amour _," Eliott smiles reassuringly, using his free hand to cradle Lucas's face. "Once we change the world. Once it's ours. We'll have our cottage. We'll have all our paintings and art supplies. We'll have our bed. We'll still only need each other to survive. In fact, we'll_ live _. Live unlike anyone else has before. We'll be the first of many things, the fathers of many things. I know we will."_

 _Lucas musters a smile, leaning into Eliott's touch and closing his eyes. He remembers all the time he used Eliott's touch to ground himself, only to realize now that he's trying to use his own touch to ground Eliott. He places his other hand on top of Eliott's, running his thumb over the back of his hand. He hears something inside him say,_ wherever you are, come back to me. _His chest tightens at the idea of thinking such a thing, and the idea that right now the answer to his prayer is all he wants._

_"Hey," Eliott says softly, Lucas opening his eyes slowly. "Maybe we can start by trying these outfits on?"_

_Lucas nods, barely widening his smile. He waits for Eliott to climb out of bed before doing the same. He watches him carefully, as much as he hates to admit it, noticing how all his muscles seem to be wrapped around a spring, how his feet seem to just_ know _that they can fly so they try to help him take off. He noticed all these things before, but not in the way he does now. Maybe that should've been some sort of warning sign, a red flag. He takes a deep breath and gets off his bed, starting to take off his clothes. He notices Eliott is stripped down to his boxers and has his back turned, so he takes a step toward him._

_"No, Lu, you can't look at me yet," Eliott says just over his shoulder. "Turn around and let me know when you're changed, okay?"_

_Lucas obeys, facing his window. "Okay." He takes off his shirt and shorts, trying to get changed as quickly as he can. He tries to watch the waves, though they're fairly distant from his window. They're calm, breathing slowly against the shore. He tries to match his breathing to theirs as he works up the courage to tell Eliott to turn around._ In, out. In, out.

_"Turn around," he manages to say, turning around himself._

_Eliott's eyes light up even more as he laughs delightedly. "You look amazing,_ mon amour _!" he grins, his eyes scanning his body. The outfit suits Eliott really well, too, but it doesn't make Lucas smile like it probably would have under different circumstances. Eliott takes a step forward and pulls Lucas close, kissing him._

_Lucas tries not to seem hesitant as he kisses him back, muttering against his lips, "You look amazing, too, my love."_

_"Not as amazing as you," Eliott counters, deepening the kiss. Lucas stumbles a bit, but Eliott helps him regain his balance. Lucas opens his eyes, noticing that Eliott is looking out his window. "We should go swimming," Eliott smiles, looking over at Lucas. "The sun isn't going down anytime soon. We have time."_

_Lucas bites his lip, his worry turning his stomach. He doesn't think it's a good idea, though he can't explain why. He tries to think of some sort of excuse, hopefully one that will convince Eliott to stay here in his room. He shrugs, fidgets with the collar of Eliott's shirt. "I don't know," he starts, trying to make his lie as smooth and believable as possible. "It's been a long day, I'm pretty tired. I don't feel like swimming."_

_"Come on, Lucas," Eliott encourages, taking his face in his hands. "It's beautiful outside, and the sea is calm. It's a perfect day for swimming!"_

_"I don't know, Ellie," he replies, dumbly. "We can swim another day, can't we? We could go tomorrow. I'd rather stay here with you and kiss you and let you hold me."_

_"We'll do all that later, Lucas," Eliott shakes his head. "Remember what we agreed to? We'll relax when the sun goes down."_

_Lucas nods, but doesn't know how to respond. Eliott tilts his head so he's looking up at him._

_"Would it make you feel better if I said we'll only stay out there for a few minutes?" Eliott asks, moving his hand to caress Lucas's cheek. "How about thirty minutes?"_

_Lucas sighs deeply, unconvinced but knowing that Eliott is persistent right now. He nods reluctantly, forcing a smile. "Okay."_

_Eliott grins, kissing Lucas again deeply. "Let's go!" he says once he pulls away. He takes Lucas's hand and leads him out of his room, out of his house, and down towards the beach. Occasionally, Eliott will look at Lucas over his shoulder, and every time Lucas loses another piece of recognition. Every time, it gets a little harder for Lucas to fake his smile. Every time, he feels a little more strongly that he needs to let go of Eliott's hand. Every time, his worry and his dread tighten his stomach and his chest, send bits of ice into his bloodstream. Every time, Lucas finds himself more and more lost in some strange cosmos._

_As they reach the shore, Eliott sweeps Lucas off his feet, carrying him into the water as if he were his bride. Lucas starts panicking, but before he can find words to say, Eliott throws him in the water. He resurfaces quickly, spitting out water and trying to catch his breath. He hears Eliott laughing, and when his eyes clear, he sees him doubled over. A strange sense of_ betrayal _fills him, a despondence. The waves gently lap against him trying to push him towards Eliott, but he feels frozen._

"Ça va, mon amour?" _Eliott asks, his voice rising above the lull of the waves._

"Ça va?" _Lucas replies, confusing Eliott._

_"What do you mean?" he asks, tilting his head._

"Ça va?" _Lucas repeats, taking a careful step towards Eliott._

"Ça va," _Eliott answers, nodding. He chuckles, shrugging. "Why wouldn't I be well when I'm with you?"_

_"You're not yourself, my love," Lucas says quietly, afraid of Eliott's reply but unable to hold back his tongue._

_"Of course I'm myself," Eliott shakes his head, scoffing. "Who else could I be?"_

_"I don't know," Lucas admits, shrugging helplessly. "You're_ different _."_

_"Are you still upset about the money?" Eliott asks, his brow furrowed. "I told you, I—"_

_"It's not the money, Eliott," Lucas sighs, shaking his head. "Did you hear yourself in my room just now? Rambling about how we'll change the entire fabric of our world as we know it?_

_"We will, don't you think?" Eliott replies, taking Lucas's hands._

_"By running until our feet bleed?" Lucas asks, his voice rising. "The world isn't ready to see us yet, and I'm not ready to run yet, either. Maybe at some point I will, but not now, my love."_

_"I never said we had to run now," Eliott shrugs, laughing. "I never said we had to get married in Giverny tomorrow. I never said you needed to rush and do something you're not ready for."_

_Lucas sighs, closing his eyes. He feels Eliott envelop him in his arms, feels his warm lips against his forehead. It doesn't ease his mind, nor his stomach or his chest. It doesn't do anything._

_"I want to go home," Lucas whispers, suddenly on the verge of tears. "I want you to hold me like this in my bed."_

_"Okay," Eliott whispers back. "Before we go, can I kiss you?"_

_Lucas nods weakly, letting Eliott gently push him away while he waits for their lips to meet each other once again. Eliott kisses him, slowly and softly, just the way he needs it. It eases everything—just a little, but enough._

_"I'll take you home now,_ mon amour _," Eliott whispers, smiling against Lucas's lips._

"Merci," _Lucas breathes, kissing Eliott quickly._

_He feels Eliott take his hand and gently guide him forward. He keeps his eyes closed, tries to focus on the memory of Eliott's lips on his._

_From behind him, he hears a wave, large and roaring. He opens his eyes then, looking over his shoulder. It's approaching them rapidly, growing taller and taller until it starts to tower over them. Lucas's heart nearly stops, and his feet are planted to the sand below. He feels Eliott's hand slip away from his, hears him stumble and ripple the water. Before Lucas can start running, the wave crashes over him, pulling him in all directions until he's too disoriented to swim back up. He sees wave after wave crash just above him, all of them merciless and pushing him further and further down._

_Once, just once, there's a gap between the waves, and Lucas breaks through, finally breathing air. With the one gulp he gets, he cries Eliott's name._

_Another wave crashes over him, and another, and another, forcing him down and under and down and under._

_Lucas drowns._

* * *

_july 20th, 1966_

_16:22_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott stumbles forward, tripping on the muddy sand beneath him. He hears a wave crash behind him, and he feels it spray lightly against his back. He isn't holding Lucas's hand anymore. He whirls around, but Lucas is nowhere to be seen. 

"Lucas!" he calls, panic edging into his voice. He scans the water, waiting for him to stand back up and return to the shore. But he doesn't.

 _"Eliott!"_

Lucas's voice is strangled, desperate, a bloodcurdling cry. His hand is just visible as it reaches up into the air. His voice and his hand are drowned out by the sound of the waves; the crashing, the frothing. _Lucas_ is drowned out by the waves, burying him and pushing him deeper and deeper into the water.

Eliott's heartbeat lurches to a stop as he stands there, helpless, waiting for Lucas to resurface. Wave after wave crashes by, growing and breathing and looming before him. He can't see Lucas anywhere.

 _"Lucas!"_ Eliott cries at the top of his lungs, swimming desperately towards where he last saw him. He beats back against the waves beating against him, his muscles becoming sore and salt filling his mouth and stinging his eyes. He spits out water, blinks it away, pushes past the burn exploding all over his body. One thought fills his mind, his heart.

_I need to get to Lucas._

He keeps swimming, looking for Lucas, breaking through every wave that gets in his way.

Lucas's name fills him, becoming louder, stronger than all his aching muscles, his aching lungs. 

_I need to get to_ _Lucas._

It feels like an eternity has passed when Eliott spots something in the water—a flash of golden skin, a wet mess of brown hair. Eliott's heart skips a beat, and he's filled with a new strength. He swims as hard and as quickly as he can, finally, _finally_ reaching Lucas. He tries his best to tread water as he gathers Lucas in his arms. His eyes are closed, but Eliott doesn't have time to try and wake him up. He quickly positions Lucas on his back, trying his best to keep him secure.

He lets the waves push him forward, closer and closer to shore. He focuses on keeping his grip on Lucas, keeping them both afloat. He sighs in relief when he feels his feet touch the ocean floor, trudging through the muddy sand with trembling but desperate and hopeful legs. He keeps walking until the sand becomes dry, until the waves are just noises behind them.

Eliott falls to his knees, the exhaustion finally weighing on him. He repositions Lucas to where he's cradling him in his arms. 

"Lucas? Lucas," Eliott stammers, breathless. "Can you hear me? Open your eyes."

Eliott doesn't think he heard him. His eyes stay closed. Eliott places a hand on Lucas's cheek, but he doesn't lean into his touch. He tries to push his hand gently against Lucas's face, but his head lolls to the other side. He runs his thumb down his cheekbone and along his jaw, and he can feel his cool skin growing colder by the second. Realization socks Eliott in the jaw. Familiarity lingers, spreading to all his limbs and traveling across every synapse in his brain. 

"Lucas," Eliott tries again, unable to hide the fear bleeding into his voice. "Lucas, please. Can you hear me?"

Eliott rests his forehead against Lucas's, rubs their noses together, desperately kisses him. Still no response. Eliott shakes his head, pure panic flooding over him.

"No..." Eliott chokes out, his hand drifting down to Lucas's chest. It's not rising or falling, and despite all his searching, he can't find Lucas's heartbeat. He looks up at Lucas's face again, and he can _see_ the color draining from it. He looks the same way his father did. Ghostly, almost not real. A shadow, a small flicker of light that's out of focus. "Not you. Not you, too. Not you. Not you. Not you, please."

Tears start running down his cheeks as he lays Lucas down on the sand. His brain turns off, and he feels as if he's watching himself press down on Lucas's chest with all his weight, watching himself breathe as much air into his lungs as he can. He begs Lucas to wake up and open his eyes and _live_ , begs his lungs to open and empty and _fill_ , begs his heart to stir and drum and _beat_. He begs the love of his life not to die, not to leave him, not to be lost to the waves. His desperation is stronger, growing out of his body and reaching out to anyone that could help him.

Another eternity passes by of Eliott nearly crushing Lucas's still, hollow chest, of Eliott feeling Lucas's cold, silent lips against his. There's been an ache pooling down his arms, and he can't ignore the strain anymore, nor the pangs in his lungs. As he goes to give Lucas more rescue breaths, his arms buckle and he collapses just on top of Lucas. He rests his forehead against his, exhausted. He exhales deeply, Lucas's name spilling out of his trembling mouth and falling on deaf ears. He takes Lucas's face in both of his hands and musters another mite of strength, giving him as many more rescue breaths as he can manage.

Eliott pulls away after he gives the last breath he possibly can, his eyes closing. There's only silence for a fraction of a moment, but it spreads and stretches itself out, looking to every other moment in time for direction, for answers. It searches and searches, its body swelling and close to bursting. As it takes its last breath, Eliott's heart whimpers, whispers to it, _begging_.

_Please. Please let it be enough to save him._

Eliott's eyes fly open when he hears Lucas choking, coughing. He sits up, quickly turning Lucas onto his side. New rivers of tears stream down his face as he hears Lucas take labored gulps of breath, sees his chest rising and falling again. His heart swells as he hears Lucas breathing more easily, the hoarse, shallow breaths becoming deeper, fuller.

"Eliott..." Lucas mumbles after a moment, his voice weak.

A sob rips from Eliott's throat as he pulls Lucas close and clings to him. "I'm here, _mon amour_ ," he whispers in his ear. He peppers his face with kisses, threads his fingers through his hair. " _You're_ here," Eliott breathes, joy bubbling from his chest with a giddy giggle. 

"I'm here," Lucas rasps. Eliott can feel him smiling feebly. He sighs, and his breath tingles down Eliott's neck. It's enough to make Eliott feel like he could explode from sheer relief. Lucas is _breathing_ again. He can feel their chests breathing together, and he can just barely feel Lucas's heart murmuring there, too. It's slow, weak, but it's there. It'll gain strength every day. It'll heal. Maybe it'll love even more than it has before.

"I'm so happy you're here, _mon amour_ ," Eliott sighs, kissing Lucas's forehead. "I'm so happy you're okay."

* * *

_july 20th, 1966_

_23:32_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott can't sit still as he sits outside Lucas's hospital room, waiting for the doctor to finish more tests. He hasn't seen him since they arrived at the hospital. They were separated almost immediately, Lucas being taken to a room to have his vitals taken and some initial tests being performed. Eliott was told to stay in the lobby, where someone placed a warm, soft blanket around him and a nurse kindly guided him as he recalled what happened to Lucas. It's been nearly seven hours, which another nurse told him is a potential turning point for drowning victims. They either stay stable because they were able to get adequate life support, or they start taking a turn for the worst. They won't let Eliott see him until they're sure that the former happens, or that they'll be able to get him stable if it's the latter. 

As time has gone on, the relief and joy Eliott felt initially has faded. He may have been able to bring Lucas back, but now they're waiting helplessly for something to go wrong, desperately hoping for some miraculous recovery. Eliott can't stomach the thought that he might've brought Lucas back only for him to suffer even more for hours and reach the same fate he did before. Yet it still circles his mind, tangling on itself before it forms a knot that squeezes his brain tight. 

Suddenly, the door opens and Eliott rises to his feet, anxiety blooming in his stomach. The doctor comes out, stopping in front of Eliott.

"He's stable," he reports. "We think you got to him sooner than you thought. We'll keep him here overnight, just in case, and we'll keep him on oxygen and fluids until he has his strength back up. He should be well enough to be released by tomorrow evening at the latest. I'm almost tempted to call this a miracle."

Eliott sighs in relief, nodding.

"Would you like to see him?" the doctor asks with an inviting smile. "He's been asking for you all night." 

Eliott grins, his heart warming. "Yes, please," he laughs. "I can't thank you enough."

"There's no need," the doctor smiles. He claps his hand on Eliott's shoulder, then walks down the hallway. 

Eliott takes a deep breath as he enters Lucas's room, unable to hold back his grin when he finally sees him. 

Lucas has a ventilator mask on his face, but it can't hide his smile when he sees Eliott. He weakly holds out his hand, and Eliott bounds over to him, giving as good of a hug as he can. 

"I was so worried," Eliott whispers, kissing Lucas's ear. 

"I know," Lucas whispers back feebly. Then he says, a little louder, "Come here, Maman." 

"No, it's okay," she replies. Eliott looks back and sees her in the corner. She's smiling but there's this deep _sadness_ in her eyes, shining and dark. It strikes Eliott deep in his chest somehow, filling him with even more guilt than he had before. She nods, forcing a smile. "I'll leave you two alone." 

"Maman," Lucas starts, his voice dying in his throat as she leaves the room. 

"Does she know?" Lucas asks quietly after a moment. 

"I didn't have the heart to tell her," Eliott replies. "But, earlier, they asked me about the bruises on your chest and your rib. So, they must've asked her, too."

Lucas sighs shakily, closing his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Eliott chokes out. "I didn't know how to say it."

"It's okay," Lucas replies, shaking his head. "I'm... worried."

Eliott doesn't know what to say. He's frozen by his guilt, consumed by his anxiety. He watches Lucas, listens to him breathe. He looks at Eliott, then, his eyes bleary and unreadable.

"Lie with me, Eliott," he whispers, his voice strained. He holds out his hand weakly again, and Eliott feels tears filling his eyes. But, he carefully climbs into the bed with Lucas, resting his head on his chest. The fabric of his gown is warm but rough and thin, and Eliott can just barely see Lucas's bruises through it. They're a greenish brown, and the color creeps across his skin in thin lines, like veins.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Eliott asks, lifting his head a bit.

"No," Lucas mumbles. "Painkillers are working."

Eliott sighs in relief, setting his back down. He closes his eyes and listens closely, carefully Lucas's heartbeat is a little stronger, but still hard to hear. His breathing is slow, deep, still shaky. Eliott thinks he hears Lucas's blood humming through his veins, too. The more he listens, the more he remembers the way Lucas's chest used to sound, and the more he realizes Lucas shouldn't be here right now. He never should've made Lucas go to the beach with him. He should've let Lucas stay home because he was tired. Lucas's lungs should never have filled with seawater, and his eyes should never have closed, and his heart should never have stopped beating. It doesn't matter that Lucas is alive again. He never should've died in the first place. He never should've been a breath away from heaven.

The more he listens, the more he realizes that this is all his fault. He remembers over and over Lucas's hand slipping out of his grasp. The moment everything went wrong. 

"Lucas," Eliott begins, taking a deep breath before he continues, gathering the courage he needs to ask the question and hear the answer. "What did dying feel like?"

Lucas doesn't reply at first. He inhales sharply, exhales shakily. His hand drifts lazily through Eliott's hair for a moment, tugging gently. "Awful," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Painful. Horrifying. Dark. All I could do... was think about you. And Maman. The last time I said I love you. The last time I said goodbye."

Eliott doesn't respond quickly, either. The guilt deepens, darkens.

"It would've killed Maman," Lucas continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. "It's killing her..." he trails off as he starts coughing, gasping for air.

Eliott sits up, panicked, pressing the ventilator mask against Lucas's face. "Breathe, Lucas, breathe," he begs. "Breathe, please."

Lucas squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe as slowly and deeply as he can. His chest starts to rise and fall much more steadily after a moment, but there are still tears rolling down his cheeks. Eliott wipes them away gently, fighting back his own tears.

"Maman," Lucas sniffles, his voice so hoarse Eliott doesn't recognize it.

"Don't talk, Lucas," Eliott says, trying to keep his voice steady and kind. "You'll strain yourself. You need to focus on breathing right now, okay? Just breathe. You're _alive_ , Lucas. You're okay. Your maman will be okay. She loves you _so much,_ Lucas. You're her baby boy, remember?"

Lucas nods, trying his best to smile. 

"She has her baby boy back," Eliott continues, managing a smile. "She just has to deal with the fact that she almost lost you. She's grieving, right now. I'm grieving, too. But everything will be okay. You're getting better. You're getting stronger. You'll be good as new soon. We all need time to heal, you especially."

"I love you, Ellie," Lucas smiles weakly, gently caressing Eliott's cheek. His eyes start to droop. He mumbles quietly, "I'm tired."

"I love you, too, Lulu," Eliott returns, kissing the palm of Lucas's hand. "Get some sleep."

"Goodnight," Lucas whispers, closing his eyes. Eliott moves Lucas's hand from his cheek and places it on his stomach. He rests his head on Lucas's chest again, listening to the weak trickle of his heartbeat. He waits until he feels Lucas's breaths even out. He looks up and sees Lucas's beautiful, sleeping face. Most of the color has returned, and his eyelids are fluttering ever so slightly. He's the most beautiful person Eliott's ever seen, and he's been able to call him his. But he held Lucas's hand and led him to his death, letting him go and leaving him to his own devices when the waves came. He let Lucas die. He breathed life into him again, but that didn't change the fact that his hand is the one that held Lucas by his throat and _squeezed_ until his body went limp. It wasn't the water. It wasn't the waves. It was Eliott.

_Awful. Painful. Horrifying. Dark._

_My fault._

He needs to leave. He needs to go home. He'll call his Maman. Or maybe Madame Lallemant could take him home. He just needs to leave. He can't look at Lucas a minute longer without feeling like he could explode.

He carefully climbs out of Lucas's bed, but thankfully he doesn't stir. Before he leaves, he kisses Lucas's forehead. His lips linger for a moment, feeling warmth there, _life_. He smells the sea salt lingering in Lucas's hair, his skin, sighing as he pulls away. He gently cradles Lucas's face in his hand. Lucas smiles, but doesn't wake.

"I'm so sorry, _mon amour_ ," Eliott whispers feebly, his voice thick with tears. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

_july 22nd, 1966_

_04:09_

_caen, france_

~

Everything is cold. The tears on Eliott's cheeks, the rough, wooden floor against his cheek, the air around him, the blood coursing through his veins. He can't even remember what warmth feels like. No, warmth feels like Lucas's touch, sounds like Lucas's voice, tastes like Lucas's lips. But he doesn't deserve warmth anymore. Lucas gave it to him so selflessly, so kindly, so tenderly. All Eliott has ever done is hurt him. He's the cold to Lucas's warmth, the ice to his fire. He's no good for him. He'll only hold Lucas back, keep him cool when he needs to burn bright and faithful. 

They've been best friends their whole lives. They've loved each other their whole lives. Why is it just now that Eliott is realizing that everything could've been a mistake? Why is it only now that he's realizing that something was wrong between them, something that doomed them from the start? 

_You're not yourself, my love_

"I'm not myself," Eliott mutters beneath his breath, singing along with the memory of Lucas's voice.

_You're different_

"I'm different."

Something's wrong. He'd taken the money from the jar without telling his mother that morning. He'd sneaked into her room and carefully taken it out, shoving it in his pocket and put the jar back. He'd lied to Lucas about it when he asked where he'd gotten the money. It was a half-truth, really, but the fact that he ever hid anything is wrong. The whole day, his heart beat so fast he couldn't keep up with it. He felt he had no other choice but to follow it. It told him to shower Lucas in love and attention and gifts. It told him that he feels good around Lucas so he should stay with him as long as he can. It was that same anxiety he felt at Christmas, but it fixated on Lucas because it eased whenever he was around. He should've known something was wrong, then, too. Falling in love with Lucas, filling a whole sketchbook with some romantic tale of them falling in love. The other day, he let himself ramble on about Giverny and running across the earth because that same anxiety was eating at him, so he entertained another fantasy. He keeps relying on figment, on Lucas, on what he considers safe, on what he holds dear. 

Then there's the few times when he's been so fatigued and despondent he can barely lift his head from his pillow. That dreary day in January, that long and gray month after his father died. Lucas knew something was terribly wrong in January. Why didn't Eliott know, too, deep down? And anyone would've been depressed after losing a parent, but Eliott legitimately never thought he would be happy again. He didn't eat. He only slept, hoping he would have good dreams so he would have _something_ to hold onto and hope for. He barely spoke a word. He didn't draw. He didn't read. He didn't take pictures. He barely breathed. He barely did anything besides exist and hope that he's wrong and he'll find the strength to smile again. Lucas had warned him depression would kill him slowly, softly, as if it were lulling him to some eternal sleep he secretly longs for. He didn't listen. He read the words on the page, but he didn't take them to heart like he should have. He neglected Lucas. He neglected his mother. He neglected himself. But somehow, the depression eased only to send him off the deep end again, only this time, he was flying instead of sinking. No, he wasn't flying. He was falling. He was falling until he hit the water again and started to drown again.

Is this a cycle his mind is starting to subject himself to? Something's wrong. Something's _wrong_. He can't deny it anymore, but he doesn't know how to acknowledge and address it, either. What do you do when you're suddenly aware that a poison is entering your system, that a virus is plaguing you and you know that you'll never be able to find the antidote, the cure? Let yourself die?

Eliott's tears begin to dry. He sits up slowly, his mind calming and centering itself on a single memory.

_Awful. Painful. Horrifying. Dark._

Eliott gets on his feet, a sense of calm washing over him. He walks over to his desk, sitting at his chair and pulling out two sheets of paper and a pen.

His hand is surprisingly steady as he writes two letters, two apologies. The words come to him as easily as breathing, as easily as a trickle of water down a stream. He folds both sheets of paper neatly, nearly perfectly. He takes them and leaves his room.

He enters his mother's room quietly, where she's sleeping soundly, peacefully in her bed. He leaves a letter with her name on it on her bedside table.

"Goodnight, Maman," he whispers. "Sweet dreams."

He walks down the stairs, and they thankfully don't creak. The front door doesn't groan against its hinges, either.

The grass is soft and quiet beneath his feet as he walks to Lucas's house. The moon is fading, beginning to hide her face. The stars are blinking out.

He approaches Lucas's window, hoping he can open it from the outside. He can barely see Lucas sleeping in his bed in the corner. Ever so carefully, the window opens, and he leaves Lucas's letter on his window sill. 

"Goodnight, _mon amour_ ," he whispers. "Sweet dreams."

He walks past the spot where the grass ends, down the white, pearly sand, stopping at the shore. The remnants of crashed waves lapping at his feet.

He takes a deep breath, and walks forward.

* * *

_july 22nd, 1966_

_05:44_

_caen, france_

~

_Lucas wakes with a start, sharp pain erupting in his side as he sits up. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling slowly as he waits for the pain to pass. As he opens his eyes, he notices that his window is slightly open, and that there's a piece of paper resting there. He doesn't remember it being there before, and who would leave a letter on Lucas's window sill. Eliott? But Eliott knows that he can tap on Lucas's window if he needs him. A sense of dread he can't explain settles in his stomach, telling him to get out of bed and read the letter._

_He takes another deep breath, bracing himself for the pain as he climbs out of bed. He manages to get to his window without much pain, but his dread intensifies with every step, morphing into unease then apprehension then anxiety._

_He picks it up and sees his name written in Eliott's handwriting. His heart starts to race as he unfolds it, as he sees the calm, neat handwriting etched onto the paper. He begins to read, silently praying that he's worrying about nothing._

My dearest Lucas,

I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were discharged from the hospital. Whenever I looked at you, all I could see was you when I pulled you to shore. I can't get your face out of my mind. All I can hear is your silence. And all I could think about was how this was all my fault. I could never express how much I regret everything that happened that day. I regret kissing you awake that morning and racing you down the street and buying you clothes and helping you brave the waves. I regret even waking up that morning. I should've just slept all day like I had been for a month, but for the first time since Papa died, I woke up and I wanted to face the day. And I wanted to face it with you. That was selfish of me. And you paid the price for it. You were completely innocent, _mon amour_ , but you were the one that suffered.

I can't stop thinking about what you said at the hospital the other night, when I asked you what dying felt like. I can't imagine it. It's a pain so few people can say they've felt, but _you_ can, Lucas. And that kills me. You shouldn't know what the most permanent thing that a person can go through is like. Not when you're so young. Not when you had so much light in your eyes. But you did, and that's my fault. No one can deny that. When I get to heaven and I'm judged, God will tell me that I let you die and I'll be condemned for that. I deserve it. I deserve every punishment available to me. I don't deserve your forgiveness, though I hope that someday I'll be able to receive it. Maybe in some other life, some other universe.

I've loved you my whole life and yet it wasn't enough to stop me from hurting you. I've hurt everyone close to us. Our Mamans, our friends, everyone. The weight of what I've done is wearing on all of you, when it should only be my burden to carry. So, I'm taking that burden away. I'm letting the waves swallow me up. I'll know what you went through. I'll understand. I'll die and I'll never hurt you again. You can heal. You can start to breathe easier again and your heartbeat will become familiar to you again. My life is a small price to pay for yours. 

When you wake up, when you read this, I'll be sinking to the ocean floor. I'll be painting the ocean the same color as your eyes, and I'll be singing your name until it reaches the waves and they carry it, over and over until the ocean runs dry. I can't imagine doing anything else in my final moments.

I love you, Lucas. And thank you for loving me, too. 

_The letter flutters to the floor from Lucas's hand, its ruffling accompanying the fleeting of a thousand images in his mind. The weight of Eliott's body in his arms, the crack of his ribs as Lucas presses down on his chest, drops of water resting peacefully on his eyelashes, Lucas kissing him for the last time but his lips are cold and still, Madame Demaury screaming when she sees her son, Lucas's fingers hovering over piano keys at Eliott's funeral, a gravestone next to Monsieur Demaury's, thousands and thousands of flowers wilting there, thousands and thousands of tears dripping from Lucas's eyes._

_Lucas throws open his window and climbs out, ignoring his screaming rib and running as fast as he can to the shore. He remembers his own words, the ones that inspired Eliott to take his own life. Pain. Panic. Darkness. Eliott doesn't deserve to feel what Lucas felt. No one does. No one should ever experience something so horrible Lucas believes that a just God could never have designed it for every last one of His children. Eliott deserves it the least. It's not his fault. He never could've known that the water would darken and tremble and scream. It's not his fault. It never could've been and it never will be._

_Lucas should have told him when he had the chance. His voice was weak and it hurt to talk, but he could've told Eliott somehow._ It's not your fault, my love, please don't ever think that any of this was your fault.

_The sun is about to rise, and the world is stained a light, hazy blue. Lucas can see a shadow in the distance, just barely, walking into the water. It has to be Eliott. It has to mean that Lucas isn't too late. It has to mean that he can save Eliott back. Lucas tries to run faster, but his pain is becoming too great to ignore and push through._

_"Eliott!" he cries, hoping he can hear him._

_He's closer now, right on the edge where the sand is damp and crumbling. He can see Eliott, still walking forward. He can only see his head, and it's quickly disappearing. No. He can't be disappearing. He has to turn around and swim back. He has to come back to Lucas and Lucas has to hold him again. He can't drown. He can't die. He's just within Lucas's reach, but he's starting to slip through._

_"ELIOTT!" Lucas screams, his voice echoing off the air, the water, the sky. His rib feels like it's shattered and he can't breathe anymore, but Eliott_ turns around _. He starts running towards Lucas, letting the waves carry him forward until he's falling into his arms. Eliott's body shakes, his sobs come out in wheezes and hiccups, and Lucas holds him tightly, carefully guiding him away from the water._

_"I'm so sorry," Eliott chokes out. "I'm so, so sorry."_

_Lucas doesn't think he can cry, even though his best friend was practically minutes away from death. He remembers all the tears Eliott cried when he woke up, all the kisses he left all over his face, how tightly he held him, but Lucas knows he can't react the same way. Something is stopping him, something that's stirring in his chest and closing his throat. Lucas feels himself begin to shake, too, so he holds Eliott a little tighter._

_"You're safe now, my love," Lucas manages to say. "I'm here."_

_"Eliott?" Madame Demaury's voice calls out. Lucas looks over his shoulder and sees her running towards them. He must've woken her up when he called Eliott's name._

_"Maman?" Eliott says quietly, pulling away. "Maman!"_

_Eliott starts running towards Madame Demaury, calling for her. Lucas watches him fall into her arms, watches her take his face in her hands and ask him what's wrong. She starts guiding him towards their car, leaving Lucas alone on the edge of the shore. That_ something _he felt earlier starts swelling in his chest as he watches them drive away, and he finally has a name for it:_ anger _. It's a boiling, a scorching, a burning in his throat and in his stomach._

 _Eliott just tried to kill himself. His only goodbye was a_ note _that he left on Lucas's window. He thought his punishment for saving Lucas should be dying himself. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son. He thought he was committing some act of holy vengeance, divine justice. He thought taking himself away from all of them was the solution, the_ only _solution that existed. He thought it was all his fault, but by killing himself, he would've shifted the blame to Lucas. He saved himself and he saved Lucas, but Lucas couldn't save Eliott. How could he ever consider letting Lucas live with that sort of guilt? How could he think he was lifting the weight off his shoulders when he would be adding his own dead weight instead? How could he be so_ selfish _? How could he lack such compassion, such love that they agreed that they shared? How could he leave Lucas in the dark, then thrust more of it on him? How could he leave so many words hanging in the air? Words that were said but never listened to, words that they can never say now? Words that Lucas wishes he could take back, words that he wishes he should've said more often. But it's too late. Eliott is gone. He doesn't know where Madame Demaury is taking Eliott, or what will happen to him now, but for Lucas, he's gone. Eliott left Lucas. It doesn't matter if he thought it was for the best, or if he thought he was doing it out of love and care for Lucas. His intentions didn't matter. His actions did. And he_ abandoned _Lucas._

_Maybe Lucas was always right. Him and Eliott were both born sinners, but they both had a chance to ignore their nature, to a live a pure and Christlike life. They both gave into their desires, listened to the voice chanting in their hearts and not the one whispering to their souls. They sinned, so they must be punished. Their worlds are imploding on themselves because God had warned them so many times about who they could be and what they could do, but they didn't listen. Maybe this is all a part of God's will. Maybe He's trying to keep them apart so they don't make the same mistakes over and over again. Maybe Lucas was supposed to die, but Eliott somehow managed to defy heaven and save him. Maybe God scrambled and decided Eliott needed to die, but Lucas has defied heaven now, too. Maybe whatever happens to them now is God's plan "C" and they don't need to meddle anymore. Maybe they need to let things be. Maybe Lucas is ready to let Eliott go._

_Sunlight starts to peak from the horizon, golden and hazy. It's warm, soft, but it doesn't dampen his anger. He can't breathe. His chest feels like it's on fire. He swears he still feels Eliott's touch brushing against his skin, familiar but cold now. But he knows he feels guilt, knows that Eliott can never touch him that way again. Yet all his thoughts revolve around Eliott, and it makes him want to tear his brain out of his skull. Maybe that would be the only he could ever truly forget Eliott. He starts pulling on his hair, grinding his teeth. Hot, bitter tears pool in his eyes._

_He rips open his throat, breaks open his chest, cracks open his skull and_ screams _, his voice faltering as he crumbles to his knees._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter was A LOT. it was very difficult to write due to length and also the content. but i hope you still enjoyed this, and i want y'all to know that for the most part and from here on out, the angst is over. now is the time for eliott and lucas to heal and repair themselves and their relationship. the rest of this fic will detail this healing and i can't wait for all of you to see what i have planned!
> 
> also, quick shoutout to my friend @bluesky-daydreaming for helping me out with this chapter!! she hasn't seen a single episode of this show but she's kept me sane while writing this and gave me the advice i needed. she's the real mvp.
> 
> thank you so much for reading again, and feel free to leave feedback if you're comfortable! i hope you're still safe and healthy, and that you're having a good day/night/week!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ottelis!


	8. 07—lead, kindly light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Eliott reconcile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: discussions of manic and depressive episodes, electroshock therapy, suicide, and death
> 
> thank you so so much for all the love and support on the last chapter!! i was so so nervous about whether it would work within the story and if it would be good or not and every comment, kudos, and view made me feel so much better!!
> 
> and now, without further ado, The Talk™

_july 22nd, 1968_

_17:23_

_caen, france_

~

The flash of memories subsides, and Lucas and Eliott both exhale. Lucas stands by the door anxiously, expectantly. He's trapping his hand again, his left over his right, squeezing tightly. Two years ago, Lucas would've been staring down at the floor, only looking up when Eliott says something. Now, he's holding Eliott's gaze, a vulnerable yet firm look in his eyes. He isn't leaving until Eliott gives him an answer, a reply.

Eliott considers for a moment, the weight on both his and Lucas's shoulders suddenly starting to weigh on him. This needs to happen. They need to talk. But it isn't going to be easy. Eliott can already feel a lump start to form in his throat. His stomach is already starting to tie itself in a knot. And who knows how Lucas feels in this moment? Eliott _is_ ready, but that doesn't mean he's nervous for what might be said, what might be felt, what might happen between the two of them. He doesn't know what rewards or curses lie waiting once they run out of words to say, but he doesn't know how much longer he can hold back his own words. Maybe he'll get what he wants. Maybe everything will go back to normal. Maybe he can spend the rest of this awful day repairing things, healing. And maybe he can do it with Lucas. Maybe they can try; patiently, gently.

Eliott nods, exhaling slowly. "I'm ready, too."

Lucas smiles delicately, his hands falling to his sides. "Good."

"Um, I can make us tea if you want," Eliott offers awkwardly, a poor attempt at starting to try to make things normal again.

But Lucas's smile widens, his teeth starting to peek through. "That sounds good."

Eliott can't help but smile back, too, the slight ache it brings to his cheeks sweet and familiar. "We can sit at the dining table," he invites, gesturing towards it.

Lucas nods, following Eliott into the kitchen and sitting down in Eliott's usual seat. Eliott gets the kettle started, realizing that he's trying to buy himself time so he can figure out where to start. He's afraid to turn around as he turns on the burner, afraid to see the look on his face, afraid to hear what he says if he decides to speak first.

"How's Chloé?" he decides to ask, half-desperate. He turns around, and Lucas isn't looking him in the eye. He's staring down at his lap, his lips quivering as they try to find the right words. 

"She's good," he finally responds as he looks up, half-smiling. "Maman is going to take her shopping for her dress next week, I think. She wants to find her perfect dress as soon as she can."

"And how's your maman?" Eliott asks, carefully walking over to the table. He decides to sit in his father's chair, but it doesn't feel cold and empty like it usually does. Eliott hopes his father is smiling down on him now, giving him strength and guidance like he always would when he was alive. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief as he waits for Lucas's answer.

"She's been doing a lot better," Lucas nods, his smile a little more genuine now. "I think all the wedding planning is getting her really excited and happy. She loves Chloé. She talks about how she can't wait for her to be her daughter," he chuckles lightly, then. But then his lower jaw starts to stick out like it does when he's about to cry. "I haven't seen her this happy in a long time. I think the last time was before Papa left. I can't even quite remember."

Eliott wants to reach out and place his hand on Lucas's shoulder, or on his knee, but he's afraid of crossing a line that didn't exist before; a line he's tempted to say was drawn in blood. He offers Lucas a gentle, kind smile instead, and pretends that the tears in Lucas's eyes don't slowly chip away at his heart until it's a shattered piece of marble. "I'm happy that she's doing better."

"I am, too," Lucas replies, his smile wobbling. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head slightly. "How's your maman?" he asks, sitting up in his chair a little.

"She's worried about me," Eliott replies, shrugging. "But she's patient. And she loves me more than either of us could ever understand. She knows I'll be okay, she just worries about how much I may have to suffer to get better again."

The corner of Lucas's mouth quirks up, but there's _guilt_ in his eyes, just barely etched into the lines of his face. Eliott feels it echo and settle in his own stomach, weighing it down and wringing it out. He both wants and doesn't want Lucas to say anything else, or look him in the eye again, or to have him so close to him. He wants everything and nothing from him, and he's afraid to let it show.

Thankfully, the kettle whistles and Eliott practically jumps from his seat, quickly taking it off the heat. Neither of them says a word as Eliott gets cups from the counter and places teabags inside. The only sound is the boiling water singing as it splashes against the ceramic sides of the cups, filling them both quickly. Eliott grabs the small jar of sugar, too, out of habit, remembering Lucas always stirs an unholy amount of it into his tea.

Lucas gives Eliott a half-smile and a nod as he takes his cup, his smile widening when he sees the sugar. He starts pouring in spoonful after spoonful, and Eliott tries to bite back a smile, stifle a chuckle. But inside, his heart tightens, squeezes as it realizes this is one of the only times Eliott has felt he's recognized Lucas since he came home.

"It's nice to know something hasn't changed," Eliott decides to say, a low and quiet note of sadness in his voice he didn't intend to let escape.

Lucas looks up then, a thin, bittersweet smile on his face. But he looks back down again quickly, maintaining his smile but letting his shoulders tense, his breath shake. Lucas has always been good at that; not letting his smile fade even when the rest of his body starts to betray him. Eliott feels another twinge, another plunge of something he can only call _mourning_.

"We were bound to change, Eliott," Lucas begins, his smile finally but slowly fading. "We weren't going to be 17 forever. We were bound to grow up someday."

"I don't think we were meant to grow up like this," Eliott replies, shaking his head. "I thought we were meant to grow up and grow old together. Like we said that day. I never thought growing up for us would mean growing apart, too."

Lucas takes a nervous, ginger sip of his tea, his fingers curling a little too tightly around his cup. "I don't think I did either," he agrees quietly, putting his cup down on the table. He starts squeezing his hand again, massaging his knuckles. "Back then, I didn't know where I ended and you began, but I didn't mind. I thought we were immeasurable."

" _We_ thought we were immeasurable," Eliott replies, his voice wistful yet despondent. "We _could_ have been."

"I know," Lucas nods. But he shrugs, shakes his head. "But we ruined it."

"You especially, Lucas," Eliott reminds him, his voice a little firmer now. He didn't intend for the thought to spill out, but he doesn't back down. "I know what I did. I was hurting, and I didn't want to hurt anymore, so I made a choice. It was a permanent choice, and I knew that. It was the wrong choice, and I didn't know that then. So I chose to take my own life. But then you stopped me. I heard your voice and I saw your silhouette on the shore and I made a different choice. I chose life. I chose _you_. And I thought you'd chosen me, too. But you hadn't."

Stubbornness flashes across Lucas's face, darkens it, but after a moment, guilt replaces it, darkens it even more. Eliott persists, but not from anger or desperation. He's exhausted and confused and he doesn't want to be anymore. He's tired of blaming himself for everything when Lucas has so much to answer for. Eliott isn't completely innocent, but neither is Lucas. He's ready to admit that now.

"You lied to me for _two years_ , Lucas," he says, the word "lied" feeling so _right_ on his tongue.

"I didn't lie to you," Lucas denies weakly, his voice thin, panicked, breaking.

"You told me you didn't love me," Eliott cuts in, his voice becoming cold. "You told me you've been mad at me for two years. Why did you ever respond to my letters, then? Why did you write me telling me that you were happy that I was alive, and that you loved me so much you couldn't breathe? Aren't those lies?"

"They're not lies," Lucas persists, any shred of hope beginning to fade from his eyes.

"How could they not be?" Eliott asks helplessly, trying to hold back the frustration swelling in his chest. "Those letters saved me so many times in that institution. I could just _look_ at your handwriting and it made me feel better than any medicine or shocks they gave me could. I had to hide all of them in my pillowcase and I hated it because I wanted to show them off to everyone there and talk about how I found my cure. You understand why it would hurt to be told that everything you told me in those letters isn't true?" 

"It was all true," Lucas replies, his voice firmer, kinder. 

"Look me in the eye," Eliott says, pushing down the hope beginning to spark in his chest. "And tell me the letters weren't lies." 

" _None_ of those letters were lies, Eliott," Lucas swears slowly, choking on Eliott's name. His eyes are soft, vulnerable. The blue in them seems to call out to Eliott, reach out to him. "I was mad at you at first. Angrier than I've ever been before. I thought you were selfish. I thought this was all a punishment from God and that He was telling me that I needed to let you go. I was almost ready to never say your name again. I was almost ready to throw away all your pictures and tear all the bad poems I wrote about you to pieces. I was _ready_ . But then I got your first letter and I could tell how much you regretted what you tried to do. I could _feel_ all your pain. And then the letters kept coming and you talked about how much you loved me and how you couldn't wait to see me and kiss me again. I felt so terrible. I felt terrible ever thinking that you were selfish or that you wanted to hurt me…" he pauses, taking a deep breath. He starts to smile, but his lips tremble. He finally declares, "And I still loved you." 

There are tears in Lucas's eyes, and his hands are shaking badly. In a way, he's reminding Eliott of the Lucas that sat in his room over two years ago that finally admitted what he held in his heart. That Lucas was in a stalemate; if he didn't say something, he would implode. But he would _ex_ plode if he _did_ say something, too. This Lucas is stuck in the same rut. Choke or cough? Implode or explode? But both of these Lucases are passionate. Both would rather die loudly with no regrets than pass away quietly in darkness, in secrecy. 

"Even when I was so angry I could barely feel anything else, I loved you," Lucas continues, stumbling over his words. "Even when I felt like everything was my fault, I loved you. Even when I thought that we were being punished for our sins, I couldn't help but love you still. I loved you with everything inside of me and the only way I could express it was through all the letters. Everything that I hid inside I let out on the paper. Eliott, I—" he lets out a slow, shaky sigh. He shakes his head, looking up at Eliott with fear and _knowing_ in his eyes. "I love you."

Eliott is speechless, his heart hammering quickly yet weakly in his chest. He only has more questions now, a thousand running through his mind before it can find an answer. All he can do is watch Lucas's eyes become darker and bleaker with fear and worry. Lucas presses his lips together, a tear starting to roll down his cheek. He's completely helpless, and Eliott doesn't know if he can help him. He _wants_ to, but he isn't ready. Not yet.

"You're not making sense, Lucas," Eliott replies fraily. 

_"I love you,"_ Lucas repeats, his voice shattering, desperate. "I love you and—"

"That's not what I need to hear right now, Lucas," Eliott interrupts, shaking his head. "I need _answers_ . _We_ need answers."

Lucas nods, quickly wiping away his tears. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Eliott replies, still tempted to reach out and touch him and comfort him. 

"Ask me anything," Lucas proposes, taking a deep breath. "We could try that?"

"Okay," Eliott agrees, nodding. He takes a deep breath, deciding to ask the first question that comes to his mind. The question that's always been in the back of his mind, that keeps reminding him of a horrible, horrible memory. "Why did you say all those things when I came home? Why did you say that I didn't love you because I tried to kill myself?"

Lucas immediately looks down at his lap, biting his lip. Eliott feels the slightest twinge of regret, but then he remembers his heart stopping the second those words left Lucas's mouth. He remembers that seed of guilt and how Lucas kept pouring water and sunlight over it until its bloom closed up Eliott's throat. 

"You caught me completely off guard that day, Eliott," Lucas sighs, rubbing his hands together anxiously. "I hadn't seen your face in two years, or your smile for that matter. And when I saw you, I couldn't stop replaying our last two days together. All those old feelings came up, and I realized that they never went away, I just swallowed them down. I distracted myself by remembering how we used to be, and pretending that we were in some romance novel or movie as I wrote letters to you, that we were star-crossed lovers destined to meet again. But I didn't think we'd see each other so soon. Everything came bubbling up and you were pretending like nothing ever happened and you tried to kiss me… And I lost it. I couldn't control myself. I wish I could take back every single word I said that day but I can't. Especially… what you mentioned. I know you love me, Eliott. I never thought I'd doubt it but I did, and the doubt ran deeper than I thought. And I let it get to me. I let it hurt you. _I_ hurt you."

Eliott decides not to ask any follow-up questions. He lets his mind process and digest Lucas's words before it comes up with another question.

"Why have you been ignoring me ever since?" Eliott asks. "Why haven't you tried to talk to me before?"

"I really wasn't ready, Eliott," Lucas admits, shaking his head lightly. "I felt so guilty about everything I said to you. And before, when we only talked through our letters, there was almost a disconnect there. I couldn't actually hear your voice or see your face when I read them, so I think I built up this fantasy of you. Then, suddenly you were real again. Everything that happened was real again. I couldn't handle it. The memories were too much. The memories were continuing now. Our story, ourselves were continuing. I realized that these past two years have felt like some sort of pause, like a dream. I was dreaming all this time and I saw your face and I woke up. I remembered what real life was like and I wasn't ready for it."

"Why are you talking now? Today?" Eliott asks quietly, knowing he might strike a small nerve.

Lucas sighs, starting to bite his nails. "I read your letter over and over, and I kept reliving that night over and over again. I couldn't help but remember everything I did wrong. I _did_ do everything wrong. I reacted poorly, my thoughts were in the wrong place, I rewrote your motives to fit my own narrative, to make myself the good guy, maybe even the hero when you were the one who lost your best friend. You lost so much more than I ever did and I thought you were _selfish_ . I thought that I wasn't enough for you, but if I was you could've just let me go. I could've stayed dead and if I wasn't enough you wouldn't have cared. But you did. You cared too much and I didn't take the time to make sure you were taken care of, too. _I_ was the one who was selfish. There was so much during those two days that was out of my control but there was even more that I _did_ have control over. I could've stayed awake and held you in my arms in the hospital that night until you fell asleep and I knew that you were safe. But I didn't. I could've done so much more for you but I didn't. I decided that I wasn't going to leave you in the dark anymore. I wasn't going to leave you alone anymore. I knew I needed to be there for you now, and tell you everything I knew, give you the answers you needed. I've been more than unfair to you, and I needed to make things right again. That's why I'm here. That's why I chose now. This is one of the darkest days and I wanted to be there for you for once. I wanted you to have one day where you could have a bit of light to fight against the darkness."

"You couldn't help it before, though, Lucas," Eliott reassures him with a gentle smile. He remembers this same day last year, and he has his next question, afraid of Lucas's next answer, too. "What was the anniversary like for you last year? How did you deal with it?"

"I didn't," Lucas chuckles humorlessly. He sighs, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "Word got around fast when everything happened. And, when the anniversary came around, everyone kept asking me if I was okay, if you were doing okay. It was exhausting to lie and say that everything was fine when all I wanted was to be with you. I didn't want to feel alone while those days went by. But I was. Maman was there, but not in the way that I needed her to be. I thought about getting on a train so I could see you, but I wasn't ready then, either. I ended up visiting your papa's grave, actually. I didn't really say anything to him, just hoped that he was watching over you and making sure that you didn't feel alone. I remember going home and playing 'Lead, Kindly Light' on my piano a few times, just because seeing your papa made me remember his funeral and my hands remembered the melody. Those few days were dark, lonely. I didn't even care when the anniversary of my drowning came. I just kept dreading what would come two days later. Even now. Yesterday, the day before… Everything's reminded me of you."

A familiar weight sinks into Eliott's chest at the mention of the hymn. He hears the melody in his mind, hears both his father's voice and Lucas's, hears Lucas's piano playing. He can almost see it; Lucas's living room tainted with shadows and the bittersweet notes leaking from Lucas's memory. He can see Lucas's back hunched, his hands curled and shaking, his eyes hooded and glassy. He can hear Lucas humming along, too, but his voice is deep and quiet like a distant rumble of thunder. He doesn't know why the image is so clear, so real— _familiar_. He pushes the image away, focusing on Lucas again. He seems lost in thought, in memory, too. He has that faraway look he always gets, but it's darker, deeper. Eliott doesn't want Lucas getting too deep into his own mind, but he's unsure about the best way to coax him out.

Eliott carefully reaches out and places his hand on Lucas's knee, his skin warm but trembling. Lucas tenses, nearly jumps, but sighs, almost in relief. The smallest smile appears on his face, and the faintest shred of light returns to his eyes. He places his hand on top of Eliott's, and his heart swells, spills open.

"A year ago," he begins, his voice already thick with tears. "They had given me more shocks, and I couldn't get the taste of blood and metal out of my mouth but the rest of me was numb. I was locked in my room, and it was dark. Dark enough that I couldn't look at your picture or read your letters. I could tell my mind was thinking about you, but I couldn't reach my own thoughts. I couldn't pluck them down and examine them and remember you like I would when I needed comfort. It was like I was chasing your shadow, but every time I got close it disappeared or the light shifted. I was completely numb to everything. And I hated being numb because that meant I couldn't try to make myself feel better. You _were_ my cure in there, Lucas. You were my medicine, my shocks, my locked rooms and straitjackets. You were everything I needed. But when they gave me shocks, I didn't have you anymore. They would take you away. You'd be gone, and I had no idea how to get you back."

"How many times did they give you shocks?" Lucas asks quietly, running his thumb over Eliott's knuckles.

"I couldn't ever keep count," Eliott shrugs. "It was whenever medicines didn't work. Or whenever I was having an episode and they didn't know how else to control me. Especially when I was in a mania. It meant that I was crazy and they had a reason to strap me down and put the bit in my mouth and pull the switch. They took every chance they could, really."

"Did they give everyone shocks?" Lucas asks, his body beginning to visibly shake.

Eliott nods, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. "At least once. I don't know how they found time for it, honestly. There were so many people there. Men and women. Mothers and fathers. Brothers and sisters. There… There were people like us—" Eliott notices Lucas tensing, remembers the conversation they had at Lucas's birthday party. He shakes his head quickly, stuttering. "I mean… people like _me_ there, too."

"Queers?" Lucas asks quietly, the word strangled in his throat. 

Eliott nods weakly. "A lot of them. I wanted to talk to some of them, but I didn't know what they would do to me if they found out I was queer, too. I was already considered a 'more severe' case, I didn't want to risk making things worse for myself."

Lucas has tears in his eyes now, too. "Would they have given you more shocks? That's… what they do to people like you, right?"

It takes almost every mite of Eliott's strength to pretend that hearing "people like _you_ " didn't gut him like a fish, and Lucas seems to be none the wiser. Eliott sighs, letting his fingers dig the slightest bit deeper into Lucas's skin. "You know what they do to queers, Lucas."

Lucas bites his lip, bowing his head. Eliott sees him nod once, weakly. His lips tremble as he asks another question, "Did they really think the shocks worked?"

"Making us better was never the goal for them," Eliott shrugs, hearing his voice become hoarse. "It was about control. It was about making sure we didn't feel anything so we wouldn't lash out or think for ourselves or someone else. Of course, most of the time the fog from the shocks would fade eventually, but the more shocks they gave you, the harder it was to get back to normal. There were people there who were admitted years ago and it was like they weren't even people anymore. Their eyes were always glazed over and they never really talked. They were like ghosts. You didn't want to become like one of them, but it was out of your control. No matter how much you fought back, they had all these restraints and ways to keep you from succeeding. Every time they took me back to the shock rooms I was afraid that this time would be the time I became a ghost. I was afraid they would shock away my love for you like they did with the other queers there. I was afraid that with every jerk of my body I was losing another piece of you, another piece of myself. It was _hell_ , Lucas. I wouldn't wish for my worst enemy to spend a _day_ in that place."

"Why didn't you ever tell me any of that?" Lucas asks, tears streaming down his face. "In your letters?"

"I wasn't going to scare you like that," Eliott shakes his head, placing his other hand on top of Lucas's. "And the letters were sort of an escape for me, too. When I wrote to you, I imagined we were sitting on the beach or in my room and we were just _talking_ . And I would try and hear your voice responding to what I was writing. I… At the time, I couldn't imagine telling you the smallest portion of what I was going through and seeing every day. In my mind, you were always smiling and your eyes were always sparkling, and I couldn't take that away from you because then I'd be taking it away from myself. It was more selfish than anything, just pretending that nothing was happening and keeping you in ignorance, but it was what I needed. I needed this stagnant, ever joyful Lucas in my mind to talk to, but you're not like that. You never have been. You're sensitive and temperamental and opinionated and that wasn't what I needed. I needed stability, and you _were_ my stability. Your name always on the tip of my tongue and your voice always in the back of my mind. Just… your _presence_. But you weren't there. I had to fill you in somehow. I needed you so desperately I took any scrap of you that I could and nurtured it. I found scraps in your letters, and I made up this slightly alternate version of you. And it was all I had to hold onto, really. I guess when I came home I expected that dream of you to be there, not the real you. It was like what you said. I was dreaming and then suddenly I was waking up in a cold sweat. But it wasn't fair of me to expect so much of you."

"No, Eliott," Lucas sighs, his face pulled taut and his eyes squeezed shut. He exhales slowly, opening his eyes. He looks so _vulnerable_ . "All I had to do when you came home was the bare minimum. Hug you, congratulate you on getting better, invite you inside so we can catch up. I wasn't angry because you wanted me to be this big romantic like I was in my letters. I was angry because you showed up out of nowhere and you were in my life again and I didn't know what my life was anymore. I let my anger get the best of me like I always do. I had hidden so much inside and suddenly it was bursting and spilling out and I didn't know how to deal with it. I was suddenly so _afraid_ again and I took it out on you. You wanted _so little_ and I couldn't even give you _that_ , Eliott. I've been so _caught up_ in myself. I keep thinking you deserve to spit in my face and tell me you never want to see me again. But I also keep hoping with _everything_ inside of me that you won't. I'm wanting you to forgive me so it'll make _me_ feel better. Not so that you can have peace. Not so you can heal. Not so you can feel like a human being again and stand in the sunlight and smile again. I'm so _selfish_. What kind of person thinks something like that? How can I keep hurting you like this and be okay with it? Because at least I'm not hurting myself, too? Because then maybe you'd understand the pain you put me through that night?"

"I didn't want to hurt you," Eliott chokes out, his chest tight, his stomach in a knot.

"But you _did_ , Eliott," Lucas sobs, yanking his hand away. He starts squeezing it in his other hand, shaking his head as tears stream in rivers down my face. "You _did_ hurt me, and I don't know if it's fair or not for me to say that, but you _did_. I mean, was I not allowed to be hurt when I almost lost you? Or when people started asking me about what happened to you all the time and spreading rumors about us? Or when people started whispering about you and calling you these horrible names? Was I not allowed to be hurt by all of that?"

"Lucas—" Eliott begins, his heart aching and burning in his chest.

"I wouldn't have been able to bury you," Lucas continues, not hearing Eliott say his name. "I wouldn't have been able to say goodbye to you. I'd never be able to do it. Not the way it could've happened. I wouldn't have been able to live through it, live with it. The only way I could lose you is when we're old and gray and you die peaceful and happy and I'm only steps behind you. I thank God that I didn't lose you that day, but in a way, I did. I was left to pick up both of our pieces. And I had to do it alone. And I felt like I dropped our pieces again whenever someone reminded me of what happened. Some of them would get carried away by the wind or find places to hide and I had to find all of them all over again. But I wasn't allowed to cry about any of it. I wasn't allowed to mourn. People kept saying how strong I was but all I wanted to do was _scream_ and _cry_ and _crumble_ and _fall apart_ —"

"Lucas," Eliott repeats a little louder, taking Lucas's face in his hands. Lucas's skin is warm but wet with tears. He's trembling. His tears start to dry, though, and his eyes widen, soften as they focus on Eliott. "Of course you can hurt," Eliott begins, his voice quiet and kind now. "You hurt more far than you deserve. Your shoulders bear far too much weight. Your heart is far too torn and burnt. And it loves far too much."

"Yours, too," Lucas nods weakly, smiles sadly. "I think you have the strongest heart, Eliott. Not strong in the way that it beats so hard and so fast it's powerful and can handle anything thrown at it. It's strong in the sense that it's loyal, firm. It's true. It loves because it knows that's the only way it can survive. It knows that that's the reason why it exists. You were born to _love_ , Eliott. I should've known how _lucky_ I was to be loved by you."

Eliott smiles back, his lower lip trembling. Carefully, he rests his forehead against Lucas's. Eliott smiles a little wider as he realizes that Lucas's skin is still the softest thing he's ever touched. It's nice, too, that Lucas doesn't tense or pull away. "We've both been through so much," Eliott whispers fondly. "We can't stop now. We can still be immeasurable."

"I think so," Lucas whispers back, his smile spreading into his voice. "We can start over."

"No," Eliott replies quietly, thoughtfully. "I think looking over our shoulder occasionally could do us some good. We just need to keep our eyes forward more often than behind, yeah?"

"Yeah," Lucas agrees, rubbing his nose lightly against Eliott's. "I've missed this. Being close to you."

Eliott is sure Lucas can feel the heat from the blush that's starting to burn in his cheeks. He tries to push it away, knowing that they can't be close _like that_ anymore, but his heart still warms at the thought of Lucas being a breath, a blink away once again. "I've missed this, too," Eliott grins. "I've missed _you_."

Eliott pulls away slightly, lifting his head to press his lips against Lucas's forehead. Lucas sighs, almost chuckles, wrapping his arms around Eliott. His embrace is strong, warm, familiar. Eliott melts into it, burying his face in Lucas's shoulder. He still smells like the salty air that settles like a fog over the town, and a deluge of memories washes over Eliott. Bitter and sweet, cold and warm. The first time they kissed; when Eliott lied with Lucas in his hospital bed, waiting for him to fall asleep. The countless nights they fell asleep in each other's arms; when they kissed for the last time, the waves waiting Eliott to lose his grip on Lucas. For now, Eliott focuses on the sweet, the warm, focuses on Lucas's weight leaning against him and holding him up. For now, he focuses on this moment, and the knowledge that this is neither a first nor a last. This is somewhere in the middle, somewhere in between. This is another step forward, another minute ticking by.

"Minute by minute," Eliott whispers, holding Lucas a little tighter. "We'll take this minute by minute. Hours and days and months and years can be so long. But we can take this minute by minute."

"Lucas and Eliott," Lucas replies, wistful and sweet, tearful. "Minute by minute."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! we're finally past all the angst!!! feel free to leave a comment or a kudos if you're comfortable, i appreciate feedback so so much it means the world to me
> 
> thanks again for all the love on the last chapter it made my whole day when i posted it <3
> 
> have a good day/night/week!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ottelis!!


	9. 08—the world will be yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Eliott part ways for the night / Eliott hears his mother sing again for the first time / Lucas and Eliott visit Eliott's father's grave / Eliott has a follow-up appointment with Dr. Garnier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no trigger warnings for once!! however, *puts on clown nose* i lied about the angst being over. BUT it's only towards the end and everything will be resolved very soon i promise
> 
> seeing everyone's comments about how powerful they thought the last chapter was, and it seriously warmed my heart. i've been so nervous about what the reaction would be on the past couple of chapters but i've received nothing but love. i'm so so grateful for everything y'all have given me. this fic would be nothing without all of you :)
> 
> i'm so sorry for the longer wait btw, i legitimately didn't write a word for over a week and i was having some major writer's block. then school started and went through a pretty rough patch but im doing much better. BUT the chapter is here now and i'm pretty proud of it!! i hope you enjoy it!!

_july 23rd, 1968_

_04:09_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott and Lucas haven't stopped talking all night, their stories and laughter gently leading the moon across the sky. Eliott knows she's smiling down on them, knows that she doesn't want to set just yet, knows that she wants to watch over these two boys a moment or two longer. He wonders if Lucas can feel that same love from the moon in the way it's shining a little brighter, how it doesn't seem to fracture as much as it streams through the window. He wonders if Lucas knows that the moon is rejoicing along with them, bathing in the warm water of sweet memory. Lucas is smiling wider than Eliott has seen him smile since before everything happened, so he thinks Lucas can feel it all. The moon nearly weeping tears of joy, Eliott's heart repairing itself stitch by stitch, the world becoming tranquil and calm, letting itself sigh. Eliott feels—no, _knows_ —that him and Lucas are meant to be close. They're meant to look into each other's eyes, to smile at each other, to touch. It doesn't quite matter what lies beneath every touch, what they may be hiding behind their smiles, what they may find in each other's eyes. What matters is that they're in the same room, that they're breathing the same air, that they're ready to set the world aright again. That's how Eliott knows, after all. When they're together, when they're at each other's side, the world spins a little more slowly, flows purely and perfectly like water. The world is so much more beautiful when he looks into Lucas's eyes, and that has to mean something. 

"Could you find Polaris at this time of night?" Lucas asks quietly, sweetly, bringing Eliott out of his thoughts. His eyes are lost in the world outside, trying to break through the glass to get a better view.

"Of course," Eliott nods. "It's constant. It's always in the same spot."

"I think the sun is starting to rise," Lucas replies. "You can't really see it in the daylight, right?"

Eliott looks out the window, too, his eyes immediately finding Polaris. The sky is lightening around it, and it starts to blend in. "Sometimes you can, sometimes you can't," he shrugs, turning his gaze back to Lucas. But he's still gazing outside, his eyes wide and soft, an early morning sun. "I haven't really looked for Polaris lately," Eliott admits, his voice low and thin. "I don't know why. Maybe I tried to deal with everything changing by mapping the stars that were foreign to me. I thought that that could help me navigate my own parts that I don't recognize. I thought that maybe sometimes the sky doesn't know what it is, either. What it's made of. What it's worth to certain people."

"Maybe it doesn't," Lucas agrees thoughtfully, wistfully. "Maybe it's too busy trying to carry the weight of… _billions_ of wishes to worry about why it has to shoulder it all in the first place."

"Maybe," Eliott mutters, too quiet for Lucas to hear.

"Do you think God created wishes so people that don't know who He is could still pray to Him?" Lucas asks, reverent and soft. "And He made stars to hold all those wishes?"

"Maybe," Eliott repeats, a little louder this time. "But does that mean the stars aren't for everyone?"

Lucas tilts his head ever so slightly, his brow furrowing. "Everyone who's heard of God has doubted Him at some point. Maybe they're supposed to be like little gods. Maybe they can turn to them for a moment, until they decide to believe in Him again, or to hold onto the stars for a little longer."

"They're like a little path," Eliott suggests, smiling at the thought. "You can always follow it in different directions whenever it branches off."

Lucas smiles, too, sweet and content, his eyes so filled with stars Eliott wishes he could live in the galaxy within them.

"It's nice to see you smile," Eliott says, the words spilling off his tongue. But he doesn't mind. "I've missed it."

Lucas looks at Eliott then, his smile faltering only to widen and brighten into a grin. His head droops as he tries to hide it, but it still widens into Eliott's favorite smile—the shy one, the one accompanied by a small, stifled laugh. Even before he knew he loved Lucas, seeing him smile like this meant he was so happy he was afraid he would lose it if he didn't hide it. But over the years, he doesn't cover his mouth with his hand, and he doesn't tilt his head as low. He's becoming less afraid, and Eliott has the privilege to see Lucas's walls come down again. Maybe, at some point, they can go back to that brief yet brilliant time when Lucas held his head high and laughed with his whole chest, when he trusted Eliott enough to protect him and his happiness. Eliott hopes so, even if he can't cradle Lucas's heart in his hands like before. As long as Lucas can be as happy as he deserves to be.

"I've missed it, too," Lucas admits quietly as he lifts his head, his smile shrinking ever so slightly.

"Smiling?" Eliott asks, somewhat knowing that that _is_ what Lucas means, somewhat hoping that he'll be wrong.

But Lucas nods, looking out the window again. "I haven't smiled much since you came back. Chloé's noticed, and so has Maman, and all of our friends. I couldn't tell them what was wrong, of course, but… I'm glad we can be Lucas and Eliott again," his smile starts to come back again, and it puts Eliott at ease. "I've forgiven you and I've forgiven myself. I can be happy again. I _am_ happy."

Eliott grins, his heart warming and glowing like a star in his chest. "I'm happy, too."

Lucas's smile stays on his face, but there's something else in his eyes—something pensive, something close to mournful. "If you had told me the day we kissed," he begins, his voice quiet. "That in just a few months our lives would fall apart... I wouldn't have believed you for a second. You were what I needed, and I had you the way I wanted to. I never thought I would lose you." 

"But I'm here now, Lucas," Eliott replies. "And, in that case, let's not promise that we won't ever lose each other again. We never could've promised that in the first place. Let's promise, that we'll always find each other in the end. Because I don't know about you, Lucas, but I just need you close to me."

Lucas's eyes smile again. "I need you close to me, too. It's a good thing we live right next to each other."

Eliott lets out a laugh, nodding. "It's convenient, that's for sure," his smile falls again though as a thought comes to his mind. "But you're going to school soon. Then you'll marry Chloé. Is she going to be in Paris with you?"

Lucas's smile falls again, too. "We're… actually talking about moving the wedding to next year. That way she can finish lyceé and I can maybe find us an apartment in Paris. It's not set yet, but she seems to be willing to wait."

"Oh," Eliott replies dumbly, his eyes wide. 

"She was actually the one to pull me aside and say that we might be rushing into this," Lucas continues. "I was a bit shocked at first, but after we talked about it for a bit I agreed with her. She'll get her Christmas wedding, just not _this_ Christmas."

"Okay," Eliott replies, still dumbfounded. "Then, why did you tell me that she was going to go dress shopping soon earlier? I mean, you didn't talk to her between then and now because we've been together since."

Lucas shrugs, sighing. "I guess I didn't want to give bad news about Chloé when we had more important things to talk about."

Eliott nods, understanding. "But everything's okay between you two?"

Lucas nods back, the corner of his mouth quirking ever so slightly up. "Everything's okay. We just have to break the news to Maman now."

"I'm sure she'll understand," Eliott reassures him. "She'll have even more time to make her baby boy's wedding perfect."

Lucas's smile spreads, almost unevenly across his face. "You're right," he confirms, nodding once. "I think even six months of planning wasn't quite enough time for her. She's been really stressed lately. Maybe waiting a year would be better for her, too."

"See?" Eliott smiles kindly. "It's all working out."

Lucas nods again, rather weakly. "It's all working out," he repeats, as if he was reassuring himself.

"Is something wrong, Lucas?" Eliott asks quietly, carefully. 

Lucas tenses, but he melts it away almost as soon as it takes over him. "Yes, of course," he replies, half-smiling. "I think I'm disappointed that I have to wait longer to marry Chloé. I would've married her yesterday if I could have. No parties, no tuxedos, no dresses. Just us. But that's not what she wants, so."

Eliott feels disappointment and pride swirl and mix in his chest, leaving him with a bitter, sharp ache. "It's okay to be disappointed," he says, though, thinking of the ache as just another pill to swallow. "I'm sure she is, too. But I think it'll all be worth it when you see her walking down the aisle. My papa cried when he saw my maman. I think you'll be a crier, too."

Lucas smiles weakly, a dreamy gaze filling his eyes and creating another galaxy there. "I think so, too," he agrees, his voice distant and wistful. "She'll look so beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world."

Eliott smiles, too, hearing his father say almost the exact same words. "If you cry, I'm definitely going to make fun of you for it in my best man speech," he jokes, hoping to make Lucas smile a little wider.

Lucas chuckles, shaking his head. "Who said you were going to be my best man?" he teases, raising an eyebrow.

Eliott drops his mouth open, clapping his hand over his chest, pretending to be shocked. "You're telling me you've asked someone else to be your best man?"

Lucas nods gravely. "I asked Basile the other day. And he said 'yes.'"

 _"Basile?!"_ Eliott cries, but unable to keep his laughter from spilling out. " _Our_ Basile? You chose _him_ over me?!"

Lucas is fully laughing now, curling up on himself as his laughter ripples through him in waves. He nods, unable to give a response. 

"Well, you'll need to give _Basile_ some bad news, too," Eliott scoffs, folding his arms. He's too overcome with laughter, too, to be discernible enough, though.

They haven't laughed this hard all night, but they're both willing to accept that exhaustion is probably the thing that's tickling them the most right now. But they let the laughter take over, letting it stretch and pull their ribs like an accordion until the only noise that comes out is a breathy wheeze. Fireworks go off in their chest, the finale to the symphony they've played all night, exploding in sparkling blooms of pain. But it's a pain they both can bear, a pain they're familiar with and have grown to love. A pain that eases with slow, steady breathing, with the gentle fluttering of eyelashes brushing against each other as their eyes slowly close, with the warm and soft cloud of dreamy sleep.

Eliott can tell Lucas is getting sleepy, and he smiles to himself as he adds one more thing to the list of things that hasn't changed. Lucas still yawns really wide, still shakes his head a little once his mouth closes. His eyelids are still heavy and hooded. His eyes are still a bleary streak of blue beneath them (these eyes remind Eliott of the blue that precedes dawn and succeeds dusk; the sky waking up and falling asleep). He sighs, long and heavy, his mouth falling ever so slightly open. Lucas was never good at keeping himself awake once he gets tired, always falling into it as easily as he always fell into his mother's embrace. Eliott reaches out and shakes him gently.

"I'll walk you home," he offers, carefully climbing the short distance down from his windowsill. He holds out his hand hopefully, and he smiles when Lucas takes it. The shape of Lucas's hand is still so familiar, and it still fits so well in Eliott's hand. But he makes sure he's the first to draw his hand away once Lucas's feet land softly against the wooden floor. Lucas's fingers catch on his ever so slightly, but they curl up tightly, his hand becoming a fist resting at his side. 

They step carefully as they exit Eliott's room, the floor silent beneath them. Eliott knows they've probably woken up his mother a few times over the night, but he doesn't want them to create even more disturbances. They don't, thankfully, reaching the front door without incident. Eliott opens the door for Lucas, but he lingers a moment.

"You don't have to walk with me," he mutters, his voice as silvery as the fading moon. 

"I want to," Eliott shrugs. "This is our first night as best friends again. I don't want to say goodbye to you until I have to."

Lucas half-smiles again, his gaze falling down to his feet. In the darkness, Eliott thinks he sees the faintest blush on Lucas's cheeks. (Maybe he's just imagining it, or maybe the small rays of moonlight is playing tricks on him.) "Okay," Lucas nods, looking back up at him. "You can walk me home." 

Eliott's lips form a clumsy, tired smile. "Okay."

He waits for Lucas to walk through the door before following him, stepping out onto the front porch. The wood here creaks, but Eliott doesn't mind as much now. It's a little comforting, hearing the planks rasp gently beneath their feet shatters the eerie silence consuming the world right now; the quiet of a deep yet dreamless sleep. 

"It's beautiful out here," Lucas says, pausing at the porch steps. He's facing south, towards the road, towards the forest. He looks so large standing in front of it, yet he's not a threatening presence before it. He's just another shadow, another patch of darkness. Eliott approaches him, standing tall beside him. 

"It is," he agrees reverently, his eyes widening.

Distantly, ever so distantly, Eliott could see the faint lights of the heart of the city, glowing like little fireflies. The sky is darkest where they're both facing, too, the stars shining brighter and clearer as they stand stark against it. It's strange, Eliott thinks, how light drowns out the dark, even when it's outnumbered. He can't quite think of a better word for it than "strange," either. Maybe "wonderful."

"Your window has the wrong view, El," Lucas teases, smirking. "We could've stared at _this_ all night."

Eliott shakes his head, chuckling. "The ocean helps my view, though."

"I prefer the forest," Lucas replies quietly. "The trees." He doesn't need to explain why.

"Will you ever love the ocean again?" Eliott asks, even quieter. "Like you did before?"

Lucas shrugs, a smile filled with both hope and doubt barely stretching across his face. "Maybe. Once I heal a little more."

"When you're ready, we could go swimming in there together," Eliott tries, ready to retract the offer if he needs to, if Lucas isn't as ready as Eliott thinks he is.

"Maybe someday," Lucas responds after a moment. 

His words, on the surface, are vague, imprecise. But there's a promise in his voice that Eliott would recognize anywhere. Usually, his heart would swell or stir or sprint, but in this moment, it simply _sighs_. Content, safe. 

"I wanna go home," Lucas says, then. His tone isn't annoyed or bossy, just exhausted. His hand brushes against Eliott's, pauses for a moment, then tangles itself in his. It tugs Eliott gently forward, down the stairs and into the cool, gray sand. It almost puts him in a trance, almost brings him back to some nights like this not too long ago, ones that have bled together into a fog. The only constant was Lucas and Polaris, and the other details didn't matter then. But, above and overall, it makes him _smile_.

"Sorry I'm dragging you," Lucas mutters, taking his hand away before Eliott can protest. He holds it in his other hand—not squeezing it, but still fidgeting with it, controlling it.

"It's okay," Eliott reassures, pretending not to notice Lucas's hands. "I know you're tired."

If Lucas replied, Eliott didn't hear him.

They get to Lucas's house faster than Eliott expected, and he can't explain why. The night is quickly coming to an end, and Lucas's eyes are quickly closing. Eliott—selfishly, he'll admit—wants to keep Lucas up a few minutes longer so they can watch the sunrise together. But he knows Lucas needs to sleep, and frankly, he does, too.

"Thanks for hearing me out," Lucas says as they linger by his front door. He has a small yet sweet, sleepy smile on his face. "And thanks for waiting for me to come around. You didn't have to."

"Thanks for hearing me out, too," Eliott nods, smiling back at him. "And I would've waited forever if you asked me to. And I would've done it because I want to, not because I have to."

Lucas's smile quirks up slightly, the smallest wrinkles forming by his eyes. Suddenly, he envelops Eliott in a hug, burying his face in his chest.

Eliott eases into the hug, letting his eyes close and his chin rest on top of Lucas's head. He holds Lucas tightly, offering him sanctuary, if only for a moment. He hasn't held Lucas like this in such a long time. He hadn't realized how much he's missed it. He thinks Lucas's warmth, the memory of it, will help him fall asleep a little faster for days, even weeks to come. He prays that his own warmth can do the same for Lucas.

"Sweet dreams," Eliott wishes into Lucas's hair, the strands soft and familiar as they brush against his lips.

"Good morning, Ellie," Lucas replies; a strange goodbye, but a goodbye that warms Eliott's chest with a soft, fuzzy light. He can feel Lucas smiling, too.

"Good morning, Lulu," he returns with a chuckle, tears springing in his eyes.

He waits for Lucas to pull away first, but he's trembling in his arms. He inhales sharply, a quiet sob, bunching Eliott's shirt in his hands. He holds Eliott tighter, nearly forcing all the air out of him. Eliott holds him back, almost just as tightly, hearing another hiccup or two from him. He doesn't know why Lucas is crying, but it makes the tears already brimming in his eyes spill over, silent and cold on his cheeks. 

Lucas finally pulls away all too suddenly, quickly swiping the tears off his cheeks. He opens his door and enters without another word, but with a glance over his shoulder at Eliott. He smiles, sincere and sure, then slowly shuts the door behind him. Everything is silent, but peacefully so. The world still sleeps, its dreams beginning to fade. It'll wake soon, but him and Lucas will be fast asleep, their hearts reunited and both of their minds at peace. Eliott smiles, too.

He falls asleep that morning wishing he had told Lucas that he's realized he never needed things to be normal again. All he ever wanted, all he ever needed was his best friend, and he feels he can never be afraid again with Lucas by his side.

* * *

_july 23rd, 1968_

_13:13_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott wakes slowly, blinking away the thick haze of sleep from his eyes, his mind. His evening, night with Lucas honestly felt like a dream, like one of a handful he's had since he came home. Dreams where there was never a tear to stitch back up, or tempestuous minds to quiet. Dreams where the world as they knew it never lurched to a stop. But Eliott knows last night was real. He still feels Lucas's warmth, feels the shadow of his shape in his arms, against his chest. He hears every word of reassurance they spoke to each other, every bout of laughter that had long been waiting to meet the air, the world outside. Eliott smiles, savoring this moment he's found himself in. Where there once was a seam between dream and reality, there is now a flawless canvas, a clean slate. A second chance lies before both him and Lucas, promising to keep their footsteps light and their paths intertwined. Who else gets to start over like they can?

Something pulls him out of his reverie, though. A sound. _The_ sound that for years has only lived in his memory. The sound he long thought had been buried with his father.

His mother is singing.

Her voice isn't loud enough in his ears to discern what song she's singing, but his ears have been so _hungry_ for it that they recognize it even through layers of wood and dust. They latch onto it, drinking in any portion of it within their reach.

Eliott sits up, slowly approaches his door to see if he can hear better. She must be downstairs, probably in the kitchen. Through the crack in his door, he can hear enough to start piecing together a [melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeFf8CCh3Hw). Once he does, he's astonished that he didn't recognize it sooner. The lyrics come to his mind, to the tip of his tongue.

_J'attendrai, le jour et la nuit, j'attendrai toujours ton retour_

The song his mother sang to herself as his father gave everything for their country. She'd sing it to Eliott at night when he couldn't sleep when he was younger, and it never failed to make his eyelids heavy. She sang it that last Christmas they all had together, her voice warmer than the stove and oven combined. And she's singing it now, long after she's lost her husband, long after she nearly lost her son.

Her voice is different now. Still warm and round and beautiful, but frailer, almost clumsy from lack of use. She doesn't seem to sing it out of relief or joy either, like she used to. Before, she sang it knowing everything she had waited for had returned to her. Now, it's hopeful. She has more things to wait for now, but she knows that they'll come.

 _You may have my face, Eliott,_ his father's voice echoes in his mind. _But that heart and everything else inside you? That shine in your eyes? That all came from your mother._

Eliott slowly sits himself down on the floor, emotion flooding his chest and his eyes. Tears start spilling, but he's _smiling_ so widely every inch of his face begins to ache. He tries to stifle his own sobs in case it drowns out the sound of his mother's voice. They come out, still, but only in quiet hiccups and sharp risings and fallings of his chest.

He hasn't heard his mother sing in more than two years. He's come to the crushing realization so many times that he could never remember the last time he'd heard her sing. He's wished on a thousand—dare he say a _million_ —stars that he could hear her sing again, even if it was only half of a note, even if she was off-key. He's sung that same song to himself night after night in that horrific institution but it never soothed him like it could when she sang it. Since he's come home, he's felt a nagging guilt that his mother is too worried about him to feel light enough to sing. But he can leave all that behind now. His mother is _singing_ again!

As she starts singing the last few lines, Eliott leaps to his feet, opening his door and rushing down the stairs. She doesn't seem to hear him though, her voice not wavering as it travels throughout the house. He sees her standing at the kitchen sink, filling the kettle with water. She's smiling softly, her voice becoming more beautiful as it escapes through her curved lips.

Eliott bites back another sob as he waits for her to put the kettle on the stove, or to see him out of the corner of her eye; whichever came first. But both happen at the same time as she sings the very last line.

Eliott bounds towards her, pulling her into a crushing yet relieved hug. 

"Honey, what's wrong?" she asks with concern in her voice, hesitantly hugging him back.

"Nothing," he replies, truthfully. With a sob, he explains, "You're singing again, Maman."

"Oh," she says, slightly startled. She holds him a little tighter, still unsure. "Oh," she repeats more quietly, almost a chuckle. 

"I've missed hearing you sing," Eliott says, his voice thick and breaking. "I've missed it so much."

She sniffles, breathing out a deep, slow sigh. She rubs soothing circles into his back, rests her chin on his shoulder. She starts to tremble as her own tears roll down her cheeks, so Eliott holds her tighter. "I think I've missed it, too," she chokes out. She sobs, then, kissing his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Maman?" he asks, chuckling lightly as he pulls away. "You're singing, so you're happy."

"I _am_ happy," she nods, sniffling. "I listened to you and Lucas talking and laughing all night, and I just knew you were _so_ happy. And when you're happy, I'm happy."

"We kept you up?" Eliott asks quietly, his heart swelling and constricting at the same time.

"You two have kept me up for years," she laughs. "Papa and I would stay awake and hear you two chatting away but we hardly ever minded. You were happy. And that was all that mattered. Besides, you know how Lucas is. His laugh is more of a shout than anything."

Eliott laughs as he tries to smile, but it wobbles too much as more tears roll down his cheeks.

"Now, there were also plenty of nights where we just wanted to sleep," his mother admits, but it makes Eliott laugh. She laughs, too, wiping the tears from his face. "But most of the time, we were happy because our son was happy."

"Your son _is_ happy, Maman," Eliott replies, and it feels so _good_ to say that. "I have my best friend back. And you're singing again. What more could I ask for?"

His mother _beams_ , and through her tears, she suggests, "How about some breakfast?"

Eliott laughs, nearly chokes on it, then nods. "I'd love some breakfast, Maman."

Before he can say another word, his mother pulls a plate from the cabinet and starts filling it with food—golden, steaming eggs and rich, ripe strawberries and warm, perfectly toasted bread. The kettle whistles as she sets the plate on the table, and she doesn't waste a moment to start steeping a cup of tea for him, too. Eliott almost feels overwhelmed, but he can't force his lips into a frown, even if he tried with all his might. So, he finds his seat at the table and starts eating, letting it overwhelm his tongue and fill his stomach. He starts taking sips of his tea, too. It's familiar, floral, warms his soul.

His mother sits across from him, eating as well, but watching him with a fondness and pride that he's missed so much it nearly stops his breath. 

And when he looks over at his father's chair, it seems to glow, seems to look at him and smile.

His mother wipes away his tears, and he feels his father's arms wrap around him from some distant place, some distant life.

* * *

_august 6th, 1968_

_12:00_

_caen, france_

~

It was Lucas's idea, visiting Eliott's father's grave. Eliott isn't sure where the idea came from, and he's surprisingly unashamed to admit that it's not necessarily a good one. The last time they were there together was at the funeral, the moment Eliott finally broke and fell into Lucas's arms. He didn't think he was ready to relive that moment, but Lucas was somehow able to convince him otherwise.

It's strange, sitting in the passenger's seat of Lucas's car. For some reason, Eliott could never quite picture either of them driving. He's so full of memories of them racing each other everywhere that he must never have considered any other possibility. Not to mention the fact that they're on their way to the cemetery. He doesn't like that Lucas is quiet either, and that he doesn't have the radio turned on. But he knows that Lucas has trouble finding the right words to say, and he knows that Lucas has a talent for using silence to his advantage. Eliott holds the small bunch of flowers a little tighter in his grip, the stems soft to the touch but sturdy under the slight pressure. He hopes for strength.

"Really, Eliott," Lucas finally says, as soon as he parks. "If we need to leave now or at any point, I can take you home. I… I know how hard this is for you."

Eliott sighs, shaking his head. "I think I'm okay."

Lucas smiles, small but reassuring. "Okay."

Silence falls between them again as they get out of the car and weave their way through the rows of graves, almost traveling through time. They pass some so weathered they can't quite read the inscriptions, others cracked or slightly burnt, all with unfamiliar names and dates. But as they travel further, they're less damaged, and the names begin to stir something in the back of their minds.

Eliott's steps begin to slow as they approach the grave they're looking for, and Lucas thankfully matches his pace. Eliott knows that this journey will never be easy, even though he's trekked this path several times now. He isn't sure if Lucas being by his side is helping him as much as it usually does, but he's still glad that he's here.

He isn't as lost as he used to be before. Now, he just looks for the wilted remains of the last flowers he left there. It always makes his heart sink a little, seeing them resting lifeless beneath his father's name. How many flowers have withered since he died, flowers that he never got to see? _But,_ his soul reminds him. _How many have bloomed?_

He finds the few purple irises he brought last time easily, their petals now shriveled and tinged with gray. His eyes travel up, fleeting over the inscription before they find his father's name. He's almost memorized every grain of the stone, every imperfection forever staining the man he always thought was the closest thing to perfect someone could get. He sighs, and he feels Lucas gaze watching him carefully.

When no words burden his tongue, and Lucas stands silent beside him, Eliott kneels and carefully picks up the wilted flowers, almost flinching when they nearly turn to dust in his hand. He replaces them with the ones he's brought today; white, velvety roses with the faintest, sweetest perfume. He wonders how long these flowers will survive, how long they'll keep guard of his father's final resting place.

Once the flowers have been placed, Eliott lifts his hand and lets his fingers smooth over the dates, and the final, sealing words below it.

_Un vaillant soldat, un mari dévoué et un père aimant_

"Did I ever tell you what his last words were?" he hears himself ask, his hand dropping into his lap.

"No," Lucas answers behind him, quiet and slightly startled. 

"'God loves us, our happy family,'" Eliott recites, and he can't help hearing his father's voice in his own—tearful, weak, hopeful. "Then he fell asleep. And when he woke up, God took him home. And away from us."

Lucas kneels next to him, not saying another word. He holds out his hand and it reaches Eliott's slowly, waiting patiently for a response. Eliott lets his hand slip into Lucas's, but it still lies limply, cold and mourning. Lucas doesn't squeeze, just holds on tight enough that he supports it, like an achor or a knot.

"How did you bear it?" Eliott asks fraily. "Losing two fathers?"

"I had people to be strong for," Lucas replies after a quiet, heavy moment.. "When Papa left, I had to be strong for Maman. And when your papa passed away, I had to be strong for you. Even when I didn't feel strong."

"You can be strong without feeling like it, Lucas," Eliott says, squeezing Lucas's hand once, ignoring the gaping hole Lucas has left in his chest. "I know you. You feel something and you find a dark corner to tuck it into so you don't have to worry about it and no one else will see it, either."

Lucas presses his lips together, his eyes glazing over slightly; lost in thought, in denial once again. Eliott squeezes his hand again, and Lucas looks back up at him. Their gaze locks for a moment, and Eliott can _see_ the pain Lucas is trying to hide. Lucas's eyes are like once fine fabric that's been torn and sewn back together too many times, a scar that never fades like it should. Eliott could get lost in those eyes, but Lucas would never let him get so lost that he couldn't find his way back again.

"It's hard to wear your heart on your sleeve," Eliott continues, hope rising in his chest when Lucas doesn't look away. "And you can hide it sometimes, if you feel like it's in danger or you don't want a certain person to see it. But how can we know our own hearts if we don't let ourselves look at it, or study it, or just hold it close? Your heart sits alone in your chest, Lucas, when it needs you as much as you need it."

Lucas's eyes are wet now, and his hand is clinging onto Eliott's. "I know," he nods weakly, sighing shakily. "It's just been so long…" 

"It hasn't," Eliott shakes his head, smiling kindly. "I saw it the other day when we finally talked. It was right here," he runs his thumb over the thin, pale skin of Lucas's wrist with the lightest touch he can manage. Lucas doesn't flinch. Eliott smiles wider, saying, "And it was beating and red and alive. It had a few scars, sure, but I could still recognize it. It was still one of the hearts that's been beating beside mine my whole life. It was still yours."

A single, solitary tear rolls down Lucas's cheek, but he's smiling. His gaze travels over to Eliott's father's grave, and an unreadable expression flashes across his face.

"You know," Eliott says, squeezing Lucas's hand again. "Maman always says that he's proud of me, but I think he's proud of you, too."

Lucas stifles a sob, covering his mouth with the back of his other hand. He rests his head on Eliott's shoulder, his body beginning to tremble. Eliott feels tears in his eyes, too, as he pulls Lucas closer.

"He couldn't stand you when we were younger," Eliott recalls, and Lucas laughs through his tears. "He thought you were grumpy and overdramatic and that you had a bad temper."

"He wasn't wrong," Lucas admits, chuckling.

"But he thought I was good for you," Eliott continues. "He thought I did a good job of keeping you in check. He thought we balanced each other out really well."

"When did I become tolerable for him?" Lucas asks.

"I think he liked you more and more as we grew up," Eliott answers, growing quiet as memories begin to trickle into his mind. "I thought he was gonna kill your papa when he found out that he abandoned you and your maman. He said that he knew that the war changed him, but he never thought it changed him like that. I don't think I'd ever seen him so angry before. Or since, I think."

Lucas tenses a bit, but he exhales slowly and relaxes. "I don't have the strength to be angry at him anymore. If he lost all his love in the war, then I never had a chance. He would never love me. He would never care about me. But I had Maman. And I had you and your parents. He's not worth my anger. He never was. I wish I had known that sooner. I wasted so much breath and so many tears on him."

"It's okay," is all Eliott can manage in reply. He isn't sure why words seem to fail him now.

"It's strange," Lucas says after another moment. "Your papa had me under his wing for only a few years, but when he died, I felt like I had lost a father. A true one, a real one."

"He had a talent for loving," Eliott replies, tears filling his eyes again. "He could make you feel like he's loved you for lifetimes with a single smile."

"That must be why I felt like I'd died, too, when I heard you tap on my window," Lucas concludes quietly. "But multiple of my selves died in that moment. Infinitely many."

"Maybe he's proof that your parallel universes exist. How else could so much _love_ live inside him?"

He feels Lucas smile. "Maybe." His smile falls just as quickly as it came, but it's another moment before he speaks again. "I'm afraid of the day my papa will die. I'm afraid of how I'll feel. I don't want to mourn a man like him, but how can I not mourn my own father?"

"Grief is a strange thing," Eliott replies. "I don't think we get to choose who we mourn for, or what it makes us do, or how long it lives inside us. I think it chooses for us and we don't have any other choice but to feel it. And if you do find yourself mourning him when the time comes, I don't think it makes you a bad person. You'll just be grieving."

Lucas nods, thinking for a moment. "For some reason, I hope it isn't painful for him," Lucas mutters, almost of Eliott's earshot. "Not like it was for me."

Words fail Eliott again, and his mouth becomes dry. He smooths his thumb over Lucas's wrist again, and he still doesn't flinch.

"I hope you'll be there when it happens," Lucas sniffles, taking the burden of response off of Eliott's shoulders. But he chuckles lightly. "You owe me."

Eliott smiles weakly, letting his eyes close. "Don't worry. I'll be there, and if I'm not, I'll go through hell to make sure I'll get to you eventually." 

"Thank you," Lucas replies, lifting his head to look at Eliott. "In advance, I guess." 

"Well, then you're welcome in advance," Eliott teases, smirking. 

Lucas chuckles, rolling his eyes and shaking his head fondly. "You piss me off, but you're my best friend so I'm stuck with you."

Eliott can't help but feel the sweet, familiar warmth that blooms in his chest. It threatens to send a fierce blush up to his cheeks, so he tries his best to hold it back. Thankfully, Lucas doesn't seem to notice. "Once you marry Chloé, I'll be out of your hair."

Lucas tilts his head, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

 _"If,"_ Eliott replies, holding up a finger. "You have your kids call me Uncle Eliott."

Lucas scoffs and rolls his eyes again but he's smiling. "Fine," he laughs, holding out his hand. 

Eliott takes it gladly and shakes it firmly, nodding once. "I'm glad we've agreed, Monsieur Lallemant."

"I'm glad as well, Monsieur Demaury," Lucas returns, nodding back. He dissolves into light, airy laughter then, resting his head on Eliott's shoulder again. Eliott hears him sigh contentedly, so at ease and so in relief Eliott feels his own heart and mind soothe, calm. 

Eliott stares at his father's grave as silence falls between them once again, trying to decipher what emotions are flooding his chest, coursing through his veins.

"I miss him," he says, still unsure of what feeling, what meaning lies behind his words.

"I miss him, too," Lucas replies, quiet and distant as an echo.

"Right before he died," Eliott begins, letting the memory take over his words for him. "He told me that I'll learn how to miss him and smile at the same time."

"Have you learned yet?" Lucas asks. He isn't accusatory or judging, just simply questioning.

"Not quite," Eliott responds. "But I think I'm starting to learn."

"That's good," Lucas smiles. "He knows that you're trying."

Eliott smiles then, too. "I know. I've been feeling him a lot more lately. His presence. And it's not cold and empty anymore. It's warm and familiar. It's like I can feel his arms around me again, or his hands tousling my hair again. I think I'd forgotten that whispers can be so kind, but he's reminded me."

"Maman used to say that whispers happen when our heart has so much to say it crawls up our throat and takes over our voice," Lucas recalls absent-mindedly, his fingers tracing an unfamiliar pattern on the back of Eliott's hand. "And that's why they're always quiet. And why some words are almost always whispered. And why whispers are only meant for certain people's ears."

"That's a strange thought," Eliott remarks. "But I don't mind it."

"I don't, either," Lucas agrees. "It is kind of nice when you think about it."

"Have you told her that you're pushing the wedding back yet?" Eliott asks quietly, hoping he won't upset Lucas.

"We have," Lucas nods, his voice level. "She was a little upset, but I think she understood. Her and Chloé actually still went to look at dresses because she was so excited, Chloé just didn't buy one. So I _didn't_ lie to you that one night."

"Did she find one she liked?" Eliott smiles.

"Yeah," Lucas smiles, too. "She said it was really plain but really elegant. She said that it makes her feel like she's in a Jane Austen novel, whatever that means."

Eliott chuckles lightly, shaking his head.

"She said it had short sleeves, though," Lucas continues, chuckling along. "So she'll need to find a long-sleeved one probably, since we're having a Christmas wedding. Either that or I lend her my coat all night. That's romantic, isn't it?"

Eliott nods, humming. "How are you going to balance Christmas and your anniversary, though? As far as gifts?" he asks, nearly snickering.

"Couldn't tell you," Lucas sighs, but he's holding back laughter, too. "We'll figure it out, I guess."

"And I'm still your best man?" Eliott asks hopefully.

Lucas nods. "Of course you are. Who else would be my best man?"

"Well, you said Baz," Eliott replies teasingly.

Lucas just shakes his head in response this time, and things go quiet. Eliott can't help but feel a strange tension between them now, but he doesn't know where it came from or how to ease it away.

"Eliott?" Lucas says.

"Hm?" Eliott hums.

"Can we go home?" his voice is quiet again, almost timid.

"Of course," Eliott nods.

Lucas lifts his head and rises to his feet, not saying another word. He has an expression on his face that Eliott can only describe as blank, distant. But then he looks down at Eliott, his eyes quietly desperate. Eliott stands quickly, keeping eye contact with Lucas, but it's almost too much to bear. Lucas's eyes look like the ocean the day that he drowned—dark and fathomless, filled with something known and yet unspoken (Lucas will die; Eliott will never fall in love again). Eliott scrambles, trying to think of something to say, something that doesn't cross a line or make things worse. He opens his mouth, but pauses when Lucas takes the smallest step closer, tilts his chin up the slightest bit. His arms gently wrap around Eliott's waist and pull him close, then he buries his face in Eliott's shirt. 

Eliott freezes, feeling Lucas's hand drift up to weave into his hair, feeling Lucas's warmth breath tickle against his skin. He lets out a shocked, stuttering breath, then wraps his arms around Lucas, his hands finding their way through Lucas's hair, too. "I don't know what's wrong, Lucas," he whispers. "But you don't have to talk about it."

Lucas rests his head against in the crook of Eliott's neck, and it still fits like it used to. _"Merci,"_ he breathes against Eliott's skin. _"Merci."_

 _"Je suis là,"_ Eliott responds, his lips brushing against the small, pointed tip of Lucas's ear. "It's okay, _mon_ —" Eliott stops himself, biting his tongue to cut off the forbidden word resting on the tip of it. _"Mon frère,"_ he says instead, using the first word that came to his mind. His stomach turns and his heart clenches, but he can't take the word back.

Lucas starts to pull away then, his hands the last to leave Eliott's body as they cling to his shirt, gently letting go and falling defeated at Lucas's sides. "Let's go home," he says, a finality in his voice that's sharp and unforgiving and forces a lump down Eliott's throat.

"Okay," Eliott manages.

They leave Eliott's father's grave in silence. The clouds darken above them, but they never shed a tear. The flowers that are keeping a dead man company wait patiently, either for the moment the clouds burst or they die of thirst.

As Lucas drives, Eliott asks if they're still okay. Lucas looks at him, smiling shyly and nodding. His eyes are calmer now, but they seem to be chanting some phrase that both of them recognize but neither dare say out loud.

_Nothing will ever be the same again. We were fools to think we could make ourselves shrink and that the world would shrink with us._

* * *

_august 10th, 1968_

_10:28_

_caen, france_

~

Eliott's mother is sitting in the front lobby at his request, in the chair next to the vase of vibrant lilies that look just as fresh as they did a month ago. But he finds himself not feeling the need to hold her hand like he did last time as he waits for Dr. Garnier. He feels much braver now, almost like a child slowly learning courage. He finally jumped in the water that seemed so dark and deep, and felt its cool arms wrap around him and hold him afloat, and now he wants to get back in the water again. And he thinks Dr. Garnier will be happy to hear that Eliott and Lucas are friends again, and that he's been taking his medication, and that he's made so much progress in the past month. But he's worried about Lucas, especially after the way he was behaving at his father's grave. He knows Dr. Garnier isn't Lucas's therapist, but maybe he can offer some insight on how to help Lucas, how to comfort him.

The door opens, then, and Dr. Garnier enters. He looks up and smiles at Eliott, who grins back at him. Dr. Garnier's smile widens, then sits across from Eliott.

"You seem to be doing much better," he remarks, setting his clipboard aside. "I was worried you made another appointment because you weren't doing as well."

"I'm not perfect," Eliott shrugs. "But things are much better now."

"How's your mother?" Dr. Garnier asks politely.

Eliott smile widens a bit. "She's fantastic," he replies. "She's singing again. She hasn't sung since Papa died."

"That's good to hear," Dr. Garnier responds genuinely. "I'm glad that you're both doing well."

"I am, too," Eliott nods.

"And did you get to talk to Lucas?" Dr. Garnier continues, the smile not leaving his face.

"I did," Eliott smiles back. "We talked for a long time. We told each other everything. There's no more secrets or animosity between us anymore."

"That's good," Dr. Garnier grins. "That's great. It's important, having people who will support you. People who are in your corner."

Eliott nods. "Lucas definitely is," he pauses, then, slowly remembering what happened a few days ago, thinking through how to best phrase his concerns. "But I'm worried about him. Everything's been great so far, but he hasn't been himself the past few days."

"What do you mean when you say he's not himself?" Dr. Garnier asks, the smile falling from his face.

"He's anxious... but hopeless at the same time," Eliott replies, his brow furrowing as he thinks through his words. "It's like he knows that something bad is gonna happen, but he can't do anything to stop it. He wants to give up and let it happen but he can't."

"Do you have any idea of what could be on his mind?"

Eliott considers, running his thumb along his lower lip. "Him and his fiancée had to push back their wedding a year, but he wouldn't react like this if that was what was bothering him. And I don't know what else could be going on with him. I don't… I really don't know what's wrong."

"And you said you don't want to talk to him about it because you think he may not be ready to?" Dr. Garnier clarifies.

Eliott nods. "And he's too damn stubborn, anyway," he sighs, shaking his head. "Even if I tried to ask him what's wrong, he would just shut down or get angry or just brush it off. But it hurts because if he's upset, I feel upset, too. I hate seeing him so… So _troubled_."

"Has he ever been like this before?" Dr. Garnier asks, his brow furrowing.

Eliott takes a deep breath as thousands of memories flood through his mind. Lucas bathed in golden sunlight while black ink spills from his mouth, but Eliott kisses it away until he's golden again. Lucas listening to Eliott's manic ranting but his eyes stare at him as if he were a stranger, and Eliott kisses him for the last time before he drowns. Lucas held two years of unspeakable pain on his shoulders and thrust it onto Eliott's, his mouth cold and unforgiving and sharp. Lucas almost becoming a slab of stone himself amongst the dozens in the cemetery, a shadow passing over him and leaving him cold and hollow.

Eliott nods as he wills the memories away, a lump forming in his throat. 

"What happened the other times?" Dr. Garnier asks. "How were you able to get through to him? Did he always tell you eventually?"

Eliott considers for a moment, then nods. "Eventually," he agrees. "It just takes him awhile. He has to try to hold everything in his chest first, but once it becomes too much, it all spills out."

"What was wrong with him those other times, if I may ask?" Dr. Garnier is cautious, and Eliott can't help but feel grateful for it.

"There was one time where he was kind of like that," Eliott begins, choosing a memory that won't reveal too much. "The day he drowned. I was in a mania, and he had never seen me like that. Not as bad as I was that day, at least. He was afraid of me, I could tell. Or maybe of the things I was saying or doing, but he wanted to get away from me. Even if it was just for the day. But I wouldn't let him, because I was afraid of letting him out of my sight. And look where that got him. But… I'm not in a mania right now. I'm not depressed, either. I'm normal right now. So, he isn't worried about me, or afraid of me."

"Okay," Dr. Garnier replies quietly, nodding. "Is there another occasion where this happened that you'd be willing to share?"

Eliott nods, trying to be careful again. "Just earlier this week, we visited my father's grave," he begins. "I think we were both anxious about it, because the last time we were there together was at his funeral. But we got there, and we sat in front of his grave, and we talked like everything was normal. But something changed. Lucas wasn't talking as much, and he was just staring at the grave but there was something clouding his eyes. He was miles away, and I didn't know how to reach him. When we left, I just hugged him and made sure to tell him that I was there for him."

"Was Lucas close with your father, too?" Dr. Garnier asks after a moment.

Eliott sighs, nodding. "It's so selfish of me, but I always forget how much Papa's death affected him. He's told me before that he didn't let himself grieve too much in front of me because he felt he needed to be strong for me. If I could go back, I would check on Lucas more. Comfort him for a change, instead of him comforting me all the time." 

"There's not a wrong way to grieve, Eliott," Dr. Garnier cuts in, his voice firm but kind. "Especially since it's one of the most consuming emotions we can feel. And once we look back on such a dark period with the light that we've found again, there's a million things we could find that we regret. And regret was one of the many things that tore you two apart in the first place. Don't let it do it again. Lucas needs you as much as you need him, and I think you know that."

"You think that's what could be wrong?" Eliott asks quietly. "He's still grieving?"

"I can't tell you how Lucas feels," Dr. Garnier responds. "Only he can tell you that, because he's the only one who can feel what he feels. But, if you reach out to him, or he reaches out to you, that's your opportunity to make amends for what you feel you did wrong. If he _is_ grieving, and if he's grieving a thousand things at once, you can help him. You could lessen his regrets, guide him to the light more quickly."

Eliott nods, surety filling his chest. "Okay."

"But," Dr. Garnier adds. "I can tell how much you care about Lucas. And it's a beautiful thing to care that much about someone, but you need to keep a fraction of that, however small it may be, for yourself. You can't take care of Lucas if you don't take care of yourself. All the love you have for him won't do him any good if you don't have the strength to give it to him."

Eliott tries to keep himself from flinching at the word _love_ , but it doesn't work the way he wants it to. And, unfortunately, Dr. Garnier notices. His eyebrows shoot up for a moment, but then his expression changes to something soft. Understanding? Maybe even pity?

"Eliott," he begins softly, kindly, patiently. "It's okay if you love Lucas. And it's okay if you're _in_ love with him…" he trails off as he studies Eliott's face, looking for a reaction. He pauses another moment before asking, "Are you in love with him?"

Eliott feels tears spring in his eyes, feels his lower lip wobble. He nods, sending a tear or two rolling down his cheek. "Hopelessly," he replies, nearly choking on a sob. "Completely."

"And he doesn't love you back," Dr. Garnier continues quietly.

Eliott takes a deep breath before shaking his head. 

"Can you look at me, Eliott?" Dr. Garnier asks, his tone never forceful or cruel.

Eliott takes a few more deep breaths then lifts his head, looking into Dr. Garnier's kind eyes.

"I understand," Dr. Garnier says simply. He doesn't say more, and he doesn't need to. Eliott understands, too. He feels something strange fills his chest. Comfort? Familiarity? Dr. Garnier continues, "This kind of thing is hard enough for people who don't have to keep their love in the dark. It's especially hard for people like us, because we never know if someone could ever love us, too. When love becomes this forbidden thing, we want it even more. We _need_ it even more."

Eliott nods weakly, that strange feeling becoming stronger and stronger.

"There have been plenty of boys I fell in love with growing up that would never even glance my way," Dr. Garnier chuckles lightly. He pauses, his smile and laugh fading. "And there were boys I fell in love with when I fought in the war, and I watched most of them die in a hailstorm of bullets or in the cloud of a grenade. But, not too long after I made it home, I found a boy who loved me, too."

"What's his name?" Eliott asks, smiling weakly. 

"Louis," Dr. Garnier replies, grinning. "And I'll love him forever. But it took so many heartbreaks for me to finally find him. People like us shouldn't have to go through so much pain to find the person we'll love more than anything, but we're never alone in our pain. There are more of us out there than you think, Eliott. We're all hiding, but since our eyes get adjusted to the dark we start seeing each other. We're never alone. There's someone out there for us, just like there's someone out there for everyone else."

Eliott wants to smile, but his tears are coming faster, now. "I don't think I could ever love someone more than I love Lucas," he chokes out. "Maybe it's because I thought he loved me, too."

"You did?" Dr. Garnier asks, sympathetic. 

Eliott nods. "We were together," he begins, through his tears. "Before everything happened. He kissed me for the first time about a month before Papa died. We wrote letters to each other while I was at the institution, and he wrote me the most beautiful letters. But, apparently, none of it was real. He started dating Chloé and now they're engaged. He says he was confused back then. Just a boy. That he knows he isn't queer now. That he doesn't love me in that way and he never has. And I can't make him love me, but I _want_ to, and—" Something occurs to Eliott, then, a thought he wishes he could erase and say isn't true. "What if _I'm_ the reason he's upset?"

"Eliott—" Dr. Garnier cuts in, but Eliott's voice drowns it out.

"What if he knows I'm still in love with him and that's why he's trying to get away from me?" he rambles, his voice thick and breaking. "What if he thinks I'm a disgusting sinner and what if he wonders why he ever decided to give me a second chance? What if he thinks that I'm going to kiss him again and force him into something he doesn't want? What if he can't wait to go to school in Paris and marry Chloé so he won't have to talk to me or see me anymore? What if I've ruined everything again?"

 _"Eliott,"_ Dr. Garnier repeats firmly, reaching and placing his hand on Eliott's knee. "Can you look at me again, please?"

Eliott lets a few more sobs escape his throat before finding the strength to lift his head again. He can't quite see through his tears, but he can _feel_ Dr. Garnier's kindness. He waits for Eliott to calm down before he starts speaking.

"I think you need to talk to Lucas again," he says softly. "Tell him how you're feeling right now. And if he's ready, he can tell you the real reason why he's upset. I'm willing to bet that it doesn't have anything to do with you. But if he isn't ready, at least he knows what's on your mind. At least you're being honest with him. It's like I said before. Regrets and doubt has built a wall between you two before, and you've both torn it down. Don't let another wall be built. Neither of you deserve that."

"And what if I _am_ the reason?" Eliott asks weakly. "And please don't tell me that I won't be. What do I do then?"

Dr. Garnier sighs, thinking for a moment. "Just come here. Tell whoever is at the front desk that you need to see me immediately. That it's an emergency. I'll help you. We can talk through it. Okay?"

Eliott nods. "Okay."

"I was about to say, too, that you could talk to your mother," Dr. Garnier continues, trailing off. "Does she know?"

Eliott shakes his head. "I haven't thought much about telling her," he admits, shrugging. "Maybe if I give myself some time I could."

"Do it whenever you're ready, Eliott," Dr. Garnier replies. "And telling someone who you are is one of the hardest things you'll ever do. But I can tell your mother adores you. She reminds me of my mother. And when I told her about Louis and I, she hugged me so tightly I felt I couldn't breathe, but I couldn't have cared less about that. And, if it doesn't go the way you hope it will, come here and say it's an emergency. I'll be there to help you then, too.

Eliott nods again. "I will."

"I was you, once, Eliott," Dr. Garnier continues. "Confused and lost and lonely. That's why I decided to become a psychiatrist. I knew there was bound to be someone who was like me and who would need guidance. I'm older now, and that gives me the opportunity to tell people what I needed to hear when I was their age."

Eliott lets himself smile. "Can you tell me something, then? Something you needed when you were 19?"

"I would've been about to go to war," Dr. Garnier says, taken aback. He thinks for a moment. "I would've told 19-year-old Pierre that the world becomes more beautiful after you feel like you've lost it. After you feel like you don't belong on it, or after it feels like everything within it has turned on you. Once you learn how to fight back and once that all surrenders, the world is more beautiful than it's ever been before. There are colors everywhere, and laughter constantly floats in the air, and the earth is steady and loving beneath your feet."

Eliott's smile falters, remembering the world he sees when he looks into Lucas's eyes. The world Dr. Garnier is describing is nothing compared to the world in Lucas's eyes. 

"The world will be yours soon enough, Eliott," Dr. Garnier continues. "It'll belong to you and whoever you decide to share it with. Whether it's Lucas, or someone else. And everything will be okay. I can promise you that."

Eliott lets his eyes shut for a moment, imagining sharing a world with Lucas. Surrounded by water that will never drown them, city lights mingling with an ever star-riddled sky. The only music that exists is Lucas's laughter, his voice. Everyone they love is alive and well and happy. Nothing is wrong or dark or dirty. There is no sin. 

He clings to this world, to this fantasy. He doesn't know what'll happen if everything there crumbles, and he doesn't want to think about it.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Garnier," Eliott says, smiling weakly.

"You're very welcome, Eliott," Dr. Garnier returns. "Go home and get some rest. And keep being strong. I know you are."

"Thank you," Eliott replies as he stands. "And you'll have to tell me more about Louis."

Dr. Garnier chuckles. "I could talk about him all day, so I'm glad to hear that." He guides Eliott to the door, opening it for him. "Take care of yourself for me, Eliott. And please let me know as soon as possible if you need anything."

"I will," Eliott nods. "Thank you so much again. Have a good day."

"You, too, Eliott," Dr. Garnier returns, quietly shutting the door.

Eliott finds his mother reading a magazine in the lobby. She must've seen him out of the corner of her eye, because she quickly puts the magazine aside and walks over to him. 

"Hi, honey," she greets sweetly. Her face is suddenly etched with concern. "Have you been crying? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Maman," he promises, rubbing at his eyes. "Really."

She sighs in relief. "Okay, wonderful. Do you wanna get home now?"

Eliott nods gratefully. "Yes, please."

Him and his mother leave, locking arms, and Eliott breathes a little more easily.

Still, though, a lingering thought in the back of his mind: _have I ruined everything?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> i just wanted to say quickly that i can't really guarantee regular updates anymore now that i've started school for the semester. sure, i'm a creative writing major but i have a TON of writing to do for class this semester so i really won't have a lot of time to work on personal projects as i used to. and i know i wasn't super regular anyway (oops), but i'm gonna try my absolute best to get these last few chapters done as soon as i can! 
> 
> feel free to leave any sort of feedback if you're comfortable! even just a tick up on the view count makes my day!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ottelis!
> 
> have a good day/night/week!!


	10. 09—la vérité

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott goes to church with Lucas / Lucas has his first visit with Dr. Garnier / Eliott comes out to his mother / Eliott and Lucas build sandcastles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attacks, severe internalized homophobia, mentions of death and suicide, a brief mention of blood
> 
> the beginning of this chapter is gonna be intense so please please be careful while you read. please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter!!

_ august 11th, 1968 _

_ 07:55 _

_ caen, france _

~

Eliott sleeps much better the night after his appointment than he thought he would. Perhaps the exhaustion took over and freed him from his thoughts. He's grateful for that, but now that he's awake, he has to face Lucas again. He's not afraid of looking Lucas in the eye, or seeing all the expressions that could flicker across his face in half a moment. He's afraid of what Lucas might say, of the way his tongue may curl and slash in his mouth, or the way it could lie still and tie itself in a knot. But he can't let his fear show anymore, not when he knows Lucas is in pain, when he knows he can try to help his best friend. 

He decides to talk to Lucas before mass, since he knows he'll be there most of the morning. He dresses for mass, too, putting on his white shirt and tying his black tie beneath the collar. He hasn't been to mass, let alone inside the church, since his father's funeral, and he supposes that now could be a good time to go.

His dress shoes are too small for him now, something he never would've anticipated. He borrows one of his father's pairs, and though they're a bit too big, they fit better than his own. They're old, but his father was buried in his nicer ones. It feels a bit strange, wearing his father's shoes, but he doesn't expect to be wearing them for very long. Just until after mass.

His mother is in the kitchen, preparing to make breakfast as he gets ready to leave. He apologizes to her quickly and tells her where he'll be, and that he'll meet her at mass. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and tells her he loves her.

He takes a deep breath as he opens the door, but it catches in his throat when he sees Lucas on the other side, his hand raised and ready to knock.

"Lucas, hey," he stammers. "Is everything okay?"

Lucas nods, bewildered, too. "Yeah. Yeah. Um, this might be an odd question," he begins awkwardly. "But I've kind of become the organist at our parish, and I have a key to the church. I like to get there early and practice some songs. It's just… It's lonely in there sometimes. The echo gets too much when you're alone. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?"

Eliott blinks, fumbling for an answer. "Of course," he manages, smiling. "I've missed hearing you play anyway." He's not being untruthful, but his mind starts running even faster once the words leave his mouth. Maybe he can steal a moment to talk to Lucas. Maybe on the way there, or right before mass. 

Lucas smiles, and his eyes brighten. "Thank you so much," he sighs. "It's honestly so eerie in there and it was about to drive me crazy."

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, smiling warmly. "Were you planning on leaving now?"

Lucas nods. "If that's okay."

"Okay," Eliott nods back. He calls over his shoulder, "See you in a bit, Maman."

"See you, honey," she calls back. "See you, Lucas."

"See you, Madame Demaury," Lucas responds as Eliott goes through the door. 

Eliott shuts the door behind him, taking another deep breath. Now he has to wait for the right moment to talk to Lucas. And he has to hope it won't go poorly like he's worried it might. He has to trust Lucas. 

They don't say a word as they walk to Lucas's car, but the silence is strangely comfortable, easy. Perhaps this should be the moment that Eliott grabs by the horns, but it's too precious for him to ruin. He's too enamoured by the sound of their soft footfalls on the grass, the slightest whisper of a breeze in the air. It's going to be a beautiful day.

"It is," Lucas says suddenly, startling Eliott. He must've said his thought aloud without realizing. "Most Sundays are. The whole world is at peace on Sundays." 

"Remember when we would build sandcastles almost every Sunday?" Eliott asks quietly, still afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment.

"Because the sea was calmer," Lucas chuckles lightly. "I just can't believe we basically built the same sandcastle every week. How did we not get bored of it more quickly? We did that until we were almost ten."

"Maybe after mass we can build a sandcastle," Eliott suggests. "I think it'd be nice to come back to that."

"I like that idea," Lucas smiles warmly, letting his head tilt slightly down. 

They reach Lucas's car, piling in quickly. Lucas keeps the radio off again, but Eliott's parents never played music on the way to mass, either. Eliott doesn't mind the silence here, either. He thinks they've carried the silence from outside with them. 

The sun has risen considerably by now, but it still casts a soft, faint light on the city, coaxing it awake. It's kind today, loving. Fatherly, almost. It flows gently through the windows of Lucas's car, bathing them in a thin but warm layer of light. Eliott lifts his hand ever so slightly, letting it swim through the light. It's like water. He wiggles and curls his fingers, holds his palm face up to illuminate the lines there. 

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks with a chuckle.

"With my hand?" Eliott laughs, too. "Swimming."

Lucas smiles, glancing at Eliott's hand. His eyes follow the smooth, graceful movement of it until the car starts to swerve slightly. He quickly looks back up to the road, but the smile lingers on his face, small and content.

Eliott hopes that that smile means Lucas is doing better, that he won't have to ask him what's wrong. But Lucas was always good at hiding things, he's had so much practice with it anyway. Eliott keeps finding himself hoping and hoping.

The parking lot is empty, and it's a strange sight for Eliott. He's so used to hearing his father complain about how there weren't any parking spots left when they arrived for mass, he never thought it could be so barren. He could see what Lucas means when he says it can be eerie seeing the church deserted. He could only imagine what it's like in the chapel. 

They don't talk in the brief time it takes to get out of Lucas's car and to enter the church. Lucas still seems at ease, though, a stark contrast to his behavior at the cemetery last week. Eliott takes it as a good sign.

The lock unclicks with a creaky thud, and the door squeaks faintly as it opens. Lucas lets Eliott walk in first, making sure to lock the door behind them.

Eliott pauses just past the threshold, gazing at the chapel. It's still exactly as he remembers it—the stone floors gray as ash, the pale columns, the smooth arches, the statues with faces as familiar to him as someone he's known in real life. All the old paintings are still on the walls, all the elaborate stained glass is still intact and shining, all the same chairs are sitting in front of the altar like sentinels. He can still smell all the burning wax, the incense, wet stone. But there's something different, something in the air he doesn't recognize. Maybe he really has been away for too long and forgotten it was ever there. But it's heavy, leaves something crawling just beneath Eliott's skin. Maybe it's the ghost of memory—the ghost of a boy who prayed to God to make his papa feel better and not get sick anymore, the ghost of his father, the ghost of the flowers and incense that clouded and covered his coffin, the ghost of hymns played and sung through bitter tears.

"Spooky, isn't it?" Lucas teases, nudging Eliott's arm. 

Eliott nods, gulping. "I can see why you don't wanna be alone in here," he agrees, his voice thin.

Lucas chuckles lightly. "It's not as bad once I'm sitting at the organ. Then all of it's behind me."

"But you said the echo gets to you, too, right?" Eliott asks. 

Lucas nods, sighing. "I think you hearing it, too, will help. It won't be as lonely. It'll feel real for once. Not just some cruel trick of my imagination."

Eliott nods back, imagining the shrill yet regal notes of an organ filling such a cavernous, empty room. No voices to accompany it, no other instruments to help it swell and wane into sacred, gorgeous music. The thought sends a chill down his spine. 

_ "Tu viens?"  _ Lucas asks softly, tilting his head towards the direction of the organ. His hand brushes against Eliott's, his touch another ghost in these hallowed halls. 

Eliott nods weakly, and Lucas smiles kindly. He leads Eliott to a corner of the building that he doesn't quite remember being there before, where a stone staircase lies in front of them. He can see the organ at the top, sitting below one of the large stained glass windows. He follows Lucas up the stairs, their footfalls only a quiet shuffling in the silence of the chapel. 

"Do you want to sit next to me?" Lucas asks as if he takes his place at the seat in front of the organ. It's wide enough to fit both of them. And Lucas is looking at him with a warmth that he could never deny. 

"Yeah," Eliott smiles, sitting next to him. He can't help but look up at the stained glass window above them. It's so simple—just a mosaic of diamonds dyed with gold and silver and oceans and clouds and jewels—but the way the light filters through it is enchanting, even in the half-light they're in right now. The sun hasn't risen high enough yet to shatter through it completely. Eliott can only imagine how beautiful it must be, then. He wishes he had paid more attention to this window before. 

"This is my favorite thing in the whole church," Lucas says, his eyes gazing up at the window, too. 

"It's beautiful," Eliott replies, reverent.

"Selfishly," Lucas begins, shrugging, his brow furrowed. "I feel like it's mine, in a way."

"I don't think that's selfish," Eliott shakes his head. 

Lucas smiles, looking down at the organ keys. His smile fades, but quiet thought takes its place. His hands hover over the keys for a moment, his fingers taking shape after shape of a thousand chords before settling on one. Lucas begins playing gently, slowly growing louder as the prelude progresses. Eliott instantly recognizes  _ Ubi Caritas _ , and he lets himself smile. 

The organ was never Eliott's favorite instrument, despite hearing it his whole life. It was so easy to play too loudly, too dully. But in Lucas's hands, the organ is as elegant and stately and warm as it possibly could be. Lucas takes the love  _ Ubi Caritas  _ speaks of and lets it pour from his fingers and into the keys. Lucas could take any instrument and turn it to gold with the slightest touch, after leaving the faintest scar of a fingerprint on it. The echo of the music rings sweetly from the cold, aged stone, and Eliott can't imagine it sounding eerie or lonely. 

Eliott looks at Lucas, and for the first time today, he seems tense, anxious. His shoulders are tight, his back is hunched, his hands are shaking, his lower lip is caught beneath his teeth. But he doesn't let it betray his playing. The music still flows out of him so easily, so beautifully. 

But at the same time, Eliott has never seen Lucas like this while he's playing. He's been nervous before, of course, but it usually melts away once his fingers find their place on the keys. He's never started relieved and confident then grew nervous and stiff. 

Eliott feels the easy, comfortable dynamic between them start to break. His mind starts to reel, and his heart begins to stutter, all for Lucas. 

The hymn is over quickly, though, and Lucas releases a deep yet trembling breath. He stretches his hands, curling his fingers over and over. He's studying them as if they were someone else's hands, as if they don't belong to him.

"Does the echo bother you that much, Lucas?" Eliott asks softly, grasping at straws. 

Lucas shrugs fraily, hiding his hands between his thighs. His eyes flit across every visible thing around him except for Eliott. 

Eliott feels helpless, watching Lucas retreat into himself again. He shakes his head, maybe to help his brain rattle out a way to help Lucas.

"What if I played?" he tries, shrugging. "I know I don't how to play, but that's the trick. Maybe if I play a hymn off-key it won't make it quite as eerie in here."

Lucas smiles weakly, considering.

"Would that be sacrilegious?" Eliott asks under his breath, as if someone would hear them. "Playing random notes on a church organ?"

This makes Lucas chuckle, and Eliott already feels a thousand pounds lighter. "I don't think so, Eliott," Lucas shakes his head. "Just try not to play too loudly, okay?"

Eliott nods, hoping he'll know how to do that. He sees his hands trembling slightly as he places them just above the keys, playing whichever one each finger lands on.

He starts out with a discordant burst of music, one that nearly makes Lucas guffaw if he hadn't covered his mouth in time. After that, Eliott decides to not use all his fingers at once, instead plucking out a few random notes at awful, unsettling intervals. It's really not as awful as it could be, since he's not trying to play a real melody, but it's still not anything you would ever want to hear in a mass. 

Soon, Eliott thinks he's getting the hang of it and starts trying to make the notes string together, rather than play them stiltedly one by one. It doesn't work very well, though, and he only rushes into each note, making them bleed together until it's just  _ noise _ . But it makes Lucas laugh, and maybe cringe a bit. 

"Okay, okay," Lucas interrupts after another one of Eliott's clumsy attempts at playing. He takes a moment to keep himself from laughing again before continuing. "I'm going to help you play because I don't think I can take anymore of this."

"You're going to teach me a lesson?" Eliott smiles, raising his eyebrows. 

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly. "I guess you could say that, yes," he agrees begrudgingly, but teasingly. "Here, let me take your hands," he continues, placing his hands just above Eliott's. "First, your form is terrible."

"Thanks," Eliott remarks sarcastically.

Lucas bites back a chuckle, ignoring Eliott's comment. "Pretend you're holding a ball in both your hands," he instructs. "They should be curled just slightly, they should never be completely flat. And straighten your back a bit, you're such a sloucher."

Eliott pouts, but follows his instructions. "Yes,  _ maestro _ ," he drones jokingly. Lucas can't hide his laugh that time. 

"You know 'Hot Cross Buns'?" Lucas asks through his laughter. 

"I don't think so," Eliott answers, genuinely this time. 

"It's really simple," Lucas continues. "It teaches you chords. Like this."

Lucas guides Eliott's hands to the correct place, gently pressing down on each finger that needs to press a key. They go through the song rather slowly and haltingly, Lucas letting Eliott get the hang of using his hands correctly. Lucas sings the words quietly as they go through it each time, and Eliott thinks that putting the words to it helps. He has something to pair the chords with, something he can picture in his mind while his hands bring it to life. 

"Okay," Lucas sighs, satisfied. "Try it by yourself. Go as slowly or as quickly as you want." 

Eliott nods, picturing the balls in his hands and the words to the song in his head. He gets through it slowly, but doesn't make any major mistakes until the very end when his left hand slips somehow.

"It's okay," Lucas says quickly, taking Eliott's hand and putting it back in the right place. "Try again if you want to."

He does, but messes up at the same spot. He admits a small mite of frustration flashed in his chest, but Lucas's comforting voice made it vanish as quickly as it appeared.

"Let's try just that part with me helping you again," Lucas suggests, only putting his hands on Eliott's once Eliott gives him an affirmative nod. "Here we go, slowly."

They take a moment to pause between each chord, slowly moving to the next one and making sure everything is in the right place. Slowly, but surely, Lucas takes his hands away and lets Eliott play by himself. 

Eliott plays the whole song, top to bottom, without any mistakes. It's the slowest version of "Hot Cross Buns" ever, but it's a successful attempt.

Lucas beams, telling him to play again, then again, then again. 

"We should play together," Eliott suggests after his fourth or fifth time through the song. "I'm on one side and you're on the other." 

"That'll be hard on an organ," Lucas replies, his eyes flitting across the keys. "It's not as similar to a piano than you would think it would be." 

"Do you think we could try?" Eliott asks, shrugging. 

Lucas studies the keys for a few more moments, then nods slowly. "I think so," he mutters, finding his place on the keys. "Go as slow as you want, I'll follow your lead."

"You're not going to show me up?" Eliott asks, raising an eyebrow. "Mr. Maestro?"

Lucas smirks. "I won't make any promises." 

Eliott chuckles, taking a moment before starting the song. And he realizes all too quickly that Lucas didn't promise for a reason.

Lucas is moving all around the keys, finding the perfect octave jumps and steps and half-steps. It sounds beautiful, of course, but a little too elaborate for a song like "Hot Cross Buns." 

Towards the end of the song, Eliott's left hand and Lucas's right hand land on the same area of the keys, Lucas's on top of Eliott's. They both stop suddenly, taking their other hand away, but Eliott's hand stays pinned beneath Lucas's. Lucas's skin is so warm and soft, and his hand looks so small against Eliott's. It makes Eliott smile, small but still brimming with joy. Lucas clings to Eliott's hand, awkwardly but sweetly intertwining their fingers.

As Eliott turns his head to look over at his best friend, Lucas's lips are suddenly crashing into his. 

Eliott's eyes widen, but flutter closed as Lucas deepens the kiss. He feels Lucas's hands in his hair, pushing him closer and closer to him. Lucas still tastes the same, like sleep and salty sea air. His lips are chapped, desperate, but Eliott would kiss them forever if he could. Eliott starts kissing him back once he's out of his stupor, cradling Lucas's face in his hands, fighting back a smile as their noses smush against each other. He feels Lucas's eyelashes brush against his cheeks as his eyes fly open. Lucas takes Eliott's hands and yanks them off his face. Eliott stumbles forward slightly at the force, his eyes opening now, too.

He looks up and sees Lucas stepping backwards from the bench, his hands clasped over his mouth, his eyes too wide and his face too pale. He starts shaking his head, holds out his hands pleadingly. "Eliott, please," he whimpers, his voice shattering. "I-I didn't mean to, I—"

"No, Lucas, it's okay," Eliott interrupts, approaching Lucas carefully. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it stays stuck there, thick and aching. "I'm not mad at you. It… It just happened, right? We got carried away." 

Lucas shakes his head, tear after tear rolling down his cheeks. "No…" he chokes out. "I wanted to kiss you. I  _ wanted  _ to. And I did, and—" his tears stop his voice, his breath. His chest rises and falls so sharply Eliott feels his own breath strangle in his throat.

He takes another step towards Lucas, still careful as he can be. "Lucas…" he begins, unsure of what he'll say next. He reaches out a hand, nearing Lucas's shoulder.

Lucas takes a few more steps back, a sob tearing out of his throat. "No, no, don't touch me, please," he begs, holding out his hands again. "Please, Eliott, just  _ stay away from me _ ." 

Eliott opens his mouth, but nearly gets the wind knocked out of him as Lucas suddenly shoves him aside. Lucas rushes past him, heading towards the stairs. He pauses just before it, though, nearly falling to his knees before supporting himself against the wall. He leans against it, slowly sliding down to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, his whole body trembling.

"Lucas," Eliott tries again, softly, sitting in front of him. "I'm not leaving you again. I'm not going to do that to you. I  _ can't _ . I care about you too much, and you're hurting too much right now for me to leave you like this." 

"Please, Eliott," Lucas sobs. "Just leave. Please. You haven't done anything wrong, and I don't want to ruin that for you. I can't ruin you. I'd never forgive myself." 

"You're not ruining me, Lucas," Eliott reassures, still careful not to touch him.

"I love you, Eliott," Lucas cuts in. His voice had been hard to discern through his tears, but for some reason those three words rang out clear as a bell. "I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you. Don't you remember me telling you that? When we talked about everything that happened? I told you the exact same thing."

Eliott does remember. He remembers Lucas practically screaming it out of a bleeding throat. He nods at Lucas, feeling tears run down his face. 

"The more time I spend with you," Lucas begins, hopeless. "The more I realize that we're not meant to be together. Not even as friends. Because we could never be just friends anymore.  _ Every time  _ I look at you, I remember the times you would kiss me and love me like I had always wanted someone to. But what I want doesn't matter. It's wrong. It's a sin. And I don't want you to become a disgusting sinner because of me."

"We talked about this before," Eliott replies desperately, his heart beginning to hammer against his chest. "Remember? We agreed that it wasn't. God made us this way, Lucas, and God doesn't make mistakes. So how could we be mistakes? How could the way we love be a mistake?"

"God didn't make us like this," Lucas shakes his head bitterly. "And you have a chance to be saved, Eliott. You could meet a girl and love her with everything inside of you. I can't. It's too late for me."

"Lucas, what are you talking about?" Eliott asks, his brow furrowed. "You have Chloé. You're marrying her next year."

Lucas buries his face in his hands again, shaking his head weakly. "I don't love her, Eliott," he weeps, his voice muffled by his hands. "I  _ can't _ love her. It doesn't matter if I marry her or maybe start a family with her. It's pointless if I don't love her. I'll always want someone else instead of her. I would still be sinning."

Eliott is speechless, unable to find an argument. He feels completely helpless, useless.

"Sometimes I wish you had just let me die that day," Lucas whispers, his heart climbing up his throat to nearly shatter Eliott's. 

Eliott feels himself sway, feels his breath getting crushed out of his lungs. His body grows numb, his head spins, his blood chills. 

"Why didn't you?" Lucas asks, lifting his head. His eyes are glassy, nearly empty as they meet Eliott's. "Why didn't you just let me drown?"

"You're my best friend," Eliott chokes out. "And I love you. And it would've been my fault if you didn't make it. And I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

"If I had just died you wouldn't have tried to kill yourself," Lucas says, his voice losing its emotion, as if he's thought of this a thousand times and it's as natural as breathing.

"That's not true," Eliott whimpers. 

"And you never would've gone to the institution—"

"That's not  _ true _ —"

"And they wouldn't have done all those awful things to you—"

"Lucas,  _ stop _ —"

"And you would've learned to be happy again. To miss me and smile like your papa said—"

" _ Please _ —"

Lucas rises to his feet then, pacing the balcony. He tugs on his hair, claws at the back of his neck. "I should've died. I was supposed to die. I never saw a light. Just darkness. I was never going to make it to heaven. I was supposed to die and go to hell and—"

"I said  _ stop _ , Lucas!" Eliott begs, practically shouts. 

"Why can't I just  _ die _ —"

Lucas's fist collides with the stone wall with a sickening  _ crack _ . He screams, falling to his knees, holding his now broken, bleeding hand in his other one. 

Eliott rushes to Lucas, gathering his trembling body in his arms. He cradles him close to his chest, lets him sob into his shirt. He rocks back and forth, as if it would lull Lucas to sleep or take all his pain and torture away. He knows it won't, but he has to try  _ something _ .

"I can't be a queer, Eliott," Lucas weeps, Eliott's shirt muffling his voice. "But I don't know how to stop it." 

"You don't have to stop, Lucas," Eliott tries again softly. "You don't have to try to be someone you're not."

"What if I hate who I am?" Lucas asks weakly, bitterly. He lifts his head slightly, turning it to where his ear is resting against Eliott's chest. "What if who I am keeps myself from getting everything I want? I'll be sent to hell. Everyone I love will be in heaven, and when I die I'll never see them again. I'll never see you again. I'll never see Maman again." 

Eliott starts gently shushing Lucas, holding him a little tighter, but Lucas keeps talking.

"My poor Maman," Lucas chokes out, sniffling. "How many times have I broken her heart over the years? I can't break her heart again. I'm the only thing she has left. And who knows when she won't have me anymore? Who knows when she'll die or when I'll die and then eternity comes between us? How has she lived with having  _ me _ for a son? I'm not her baby boy anymore. I don't think I ever was." 

"She loves you more than anything, Lucas," Eliott replies. "I've seen it. She's your maman, and she loves every second she gets to be your maman."

"She fell in love with someone else," Lucas shakes his head. "Everyone has. You have, too. I can't be that person anymore. But I can't be myself either, because I can't bear to look at myself. I'm… I'm  _ trapped _ , Eliott. I'm either trapped in someone I've created to make everyone happy, or I'm trapped in myself, who's a disgusting, filthy sinner—"

_ "Lucas,"  _ Eliott interrupts, taking Lucas's face in his hands and making him look at him. "You're not disgusting. You're not filthy. You're not a sinner. You're Lucas. And because you're Lucas, you love so much and feel so much that you explode sometimes. You're exploding right now. You've had all this weight to carry on your shoulders and on your mind, and you're starting to let it go by telling me how heavy it is. And I know how heavy it can be. Believe me, I do. And it's breaking you open and that's okay."

For once, Lucas doesn't have a rebuttal. His voice is silent and his tears are quiet. He rests his head on Eliott's chest again, and Eliott lets him. 

"I haven't believed in God much since Papa died," Eliott continues, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. "But when I did, I always felt He just wanted all of us to be happy. And when we're with someone we love, we're the happiest we could ever be. And that can't ever be wrong. Love can never be wrong. Especially from someone who calls Himself the God of love. Right?" 

Lucas doesn't answer, but Eliott can feel him trembling. 

"Listen, Lucas," Eliott sighs, gingerly weaving his hands through his hair. "When has that whisper the clergy always say is God speaking to you ever told you that you're wrong for being queer? When has that little voice ever told you anything like that? Or has it always been the clergy? Or has it always been other kids' parents whispering about queers before mass? Or has it always been Sunday school teachers? When have you ever felt a truly divine voice tell you anything that those people have told you?" 

Lucas is quiet again for a moment, but then shakes his head weakly. "Never," he replies fraily.

"You can love God and be devoted to Him and not go to mass every Sunday," Eliott says. "You can pray to Him and let Him speak to you in whatever little ways He does and you can get all your answers and comfort that way. You don't have to listen to other people who say they know what's best for you in the eyes of God, because what do they know? What do they know about the way God loves or speaks to one of His queer children? What do they know about the way He loves or speaks to any of His other children? God speaks to all of us in different ways, and maybe this isn't the way He needs to speak to you. Maybe you hate the way the music echoes in here because God speaks to you through music, and this building gets in the way of it. Maybe you need to take some time to find the way He speaks to you and hold onto that. Whether it's music, or reading His word, or a combination of multiple things, or whatever. And never let anyone take it away from you. Do you hear me, Lucas?"

Lucas nods. "I do."

Eliott smiles to himself. "Good," he sighs in relief. "And… We don't have to talk about us or do anything drastic until you've made peace with everything. You come first right now. I'll hold your heart for you once it's healed, once it tells me it's okay for me to cradle it. And then I'll give you mine, too. I'll wait as long as I need to." 

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, sighing. "Thank you so much, Eliott." 

"Anything for you, Lucas," Eliott smiles, kissing the top of Lucas's head. "And we're going to leave here now, and get that hand checked out. They'll find someone else to play the organ in your place."

He feels Lucas nod. 

"And one more thing," Eliott continues. "Remember when you and Chloé ran into me outside of the psychiatry office?"

Lucas nods again.

"If you want to, you could start being a patient there, too," Eliott suggests. "Dr. Garnier is extremely kind and patient. And he's like us, Lucas. He understands. He was in the same place you were once, and he knows how to get out of it. He can tell you so many things that you probably need to hear right now. I think he'll help you." 

"Okay," Lucas agrees, his voice a little stronger now. 

Eliott closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I love you, Lucas," he says quietly. "I don't want you to hurt like this anymore. I want to be here, no matter how awful or angry or lost you feel. Okay?"

"I love you, too, Eliott," Lucas returns, and Eliott can feel him smile. "And I'll let you be there. I promise I will."

Eliott kisses the top of Lucas's head again, unable to fight back his smile now. 

"Eliott?" Lucas says softly. 

Eliott hums in response, lifting his head.

"What would you have done?" Lucas asks, his voice getting quieter. "If I had died that day?" 

The thought has invaded Eliott's mind a million times, has appeared to him in countless nightmares, and it attacks him again once the words leave Lucas's mouth. 

Eliott resting his forehead against Lucas's, waiting, begging  _ please open your eyes so I can see them again please wake up please come back to me please please please don't leave me _ , but Lucas never breathes again. His body is hollow as Eliott takes it in his arms, as he clings to it and his grief comes back to him in a tidal wave. He cries until he can't anymore, until the sun has nearly set. Someone approaches him, their footfalls soft, almost frightened on the sand. Then a scream, so agonized Eliott feels his own grief has shrunk to a spec of dust. Lucas's mother. Someone else comes, too, carefully removing Eliott's hands so they can take Lucas's body away. Eliott is too weak to fight back, to hold Lucas tighter, to refuse to let him go. His arms are emptying, and the last thing he feels is Lucas's lifeless hand brushing against his thigh. Madame Lallemant follows the person carrying her son's body, weeping and wailing, leaving a new ocean behind her. Eliott stays on the shore, broken and empty, the tide receding further and further away. 

It always ends there, Eliott alone with the weight of Lucas's body haunting his arms like a ghost. He always wakes up then, or something snaps him out of his thoughts. He never knows what happens next. He's never wanted to know.

"I don't know," he answers. He holds Lucas a little tighter, lets himself remember the way they fit together. He closes his eyes and lets himself smile. "But you're here now, Lucas. And you're alive. That has to mean something. If you really were meant to die that day, God would've found a way to stop me from saving you." 

"Yeah," Lucas replies, nodding slightly. 

"Do you remember what I said to you when you came back?" Eliott asks quietly. 

Lucas shakes his head. 

_ "I'm so happy you're here,"  _ he recites, his tears finally leaking into his voice.  _ "I'm so happy you're okay." _

Lucas lets out a sob, bunching Eliott's shirt in his hands. Another sob ripples through his body; another, another.

"You're safe now," Eliott whispers. "You're here. You're okay. God loves you. I love you. Your maman loves you. We all love you  _ so much _ , Lucas. You're  _ alive _ and you're so  _ loved. _ " 

Lucas cries harder, but Eliott can feel him smiling against his chest, hear his relieved sighs between sniffles and sobs. He smooths soothing circles into Lucas's back, holds him as closely as he can, waiting for Lucas's tears to dry, but almost hoping they won't. It's nice here, tucked away in a corner of the church; the stained glass window spilling heavenly light on them, all the bad memories that live in this place being slowly burned and faded away like incense, Lucas in Eliott's arms and Eliott in Lucas's. It's calm, tranquil, peaceful. All the cold stone and lifeless statues have been chipped away, only leaving the warmth you're supposed to feel from holiness, from sacredness. The warmth of love, understanding, safety,  _ life _ . Eliott could stay here forever, knowing it means that Lucas will be safe in his arms, and that they can just exist. They don't have to be anything or mean a certain thing to each other. They're together, and they love each other, and they're meant to be close to each other. Eliott has always known that, but now Lucas does, too.

But soon, Lucas isn't trembling with sobs anymore. He's breathing deeply, easily. Eliott actually thinks Lucas has fallen asleep for a moment, but Lucas speaks when Eliott is about to check.

"Eliott?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Can we go to the hospital now?" he asks. "My hand is killing me. I think it's broken."

Eliott looks down as Lucas pulls away slightly, revealing his hand. Scarlet blood is slicked all over it, gushing from his knuckles. And if Lucas's hand is broken, the blood is covering up any bruising. Eliott's stomach turns at the sight, nodding hurriedly. "Okay. Can you get up?"

Lucas nods, slowly rising to his feet. There's blood all over his pure white shirt, and when Eliott looks down at his shirt, his is, too. Somehow, these sights make him feel nauseous, too, but he manages to force the bile down. He rises, too, guiding Lucas down the stairs and out of the church. 

Luckily, Eliott is able to drive from the church to the hospital. Eliott goes a little faster than he should, but it's still fairly early, so the roads aren't too busy. 

When they're nearly there, Eliott looks over at Lucas and sees him cradling his injured hand close to his chest, his eyes closed. He watches for a moment as the stains on Lucas's shirt get darker, and he involuntarily pushes the gas pedal a little further forward.

"I'm not dying, Eliott," Lucas mutters, almost chuckling. "You don't have to speed to get me to the hospital."

Hearing Lucas joke puts Eliott slightly at ease, and he lets his foot slightly off the gas. He exhales slowly.

_ Everything is going to be okay. _

They arrive at the hospital about five minutes later, and their first priority (besides Lucas's hand, of course) is to call their mothers. They'd be going to mass soon, and when they realize that their sons aren't there and that Lucas's car is gone is a recipe for panic and chaos. Eliott will have to use the hospital payphone of course, he doesn't have a potentially broken hand. 

"But what am I gonna tell them?" Eliott frets as they wait for someone to take Lucas back. "They're going to ask what happened, and I can't tell them you  _ punched the church wall _ ." 

"I don't know," Lucas shrugs. "But, I'm pretty sure a bit of my blood is  _ on _ the wall so maybe we should just tell the truth. Well, not the  _ whole _ truth." 

"How much do I tell them, then?" Eliott asks. 

"Say the empty church got to my head and I started panicking and I punched the wall," Lucas suggests. "That's all true."

"Okay," Eliott nods, writing out a script in his head. "What if your maman gets upset?"

"She's going to, Eliott," Lucas sighs. "That's how she is. The best thing to do is tell her a few times that I'm okay, and that we're at the hospital and someone is taking care of me. If she says she'll be coming down here, don't tell her not to. If she's here with me, it'll make her feel better." 

Eliott nods again. "My maman will probably want to come down here, too."

Lucas nods. "A Lallemant-Demaury party at the hospital," he chuckles lightly. 

Eliott chuckles, too, his head thudding lightly against the wall. He sighs deeply, and Lucas does, too, next to him. He looks over and Lucas's eyes are closed again, bursts of pain flashing across his face. "Are you sure you're okay, Lucas?" Eliott asks again for the twentieth time in the last hour.

Lucas nods, opening his eyes. "It'd be nice if someone would see me already so they can fix me up and then I can sleep. I forgot how exhausting attacks like that are. I could sleep for a week, I think."

Eliott opens his mouth to reply, but someone calling Lucas's name interrupts him. Lucas sighs in relief, rising to his feet.

"I'll go ahead and call our mamans," Eliott tells him as he leaves. "Get better, okay?"

Lucas smiles at him over his shoulder as he follows the nurse down the hall. 

Eliott watches Lucas disappear into a room, letting out another deep sigh. He hopes Lucas's hand won't be as badly hurt as it seems like it could be. He hopes Lucas will remember everything Eliott told him today, that it won't be lost in the fog of panic. He hopes that today is a turning point for Lucas, that he can actually start healing, that he can nurture his heart the way it needs to be.

Eliott smiles to himself as he stands up, feeling cold coins on his fingertips as he fishes through his pockets. Now's the hard part: calling their mamans.

* * *

_ august 14th, 1968 _

_ 10:58 _

_ caen, france _

~

"I still don't know how you managed to punch a stone wall and walk away with barely a fracture," Eliott teases, noticing how nervous Lucas seems. They're sitting in the waiting room of the psychiatric office with Madame Lallemant. It's a dreary day today, heavy with the humidity of a coming storm, making the usually warm office not as welcoming as it has been before. And, of course, that doesn't ease any of Lucas's worries.

Lucas smiles weakly at Eliott's comment, but it doesn't linger. He's gone back to his old habit, even with an injured hand. His right hand is clasped over his left, rather than the other way around, and he doesn't squeeze as hard as he usually does. Eliott's noticed that if he squeezes the slightest bit too hard he winces, exhaling sharply.

"Are you sure you don't want me in there with you,  _ mon cherie _ ?" Madame Lallemant asks kindly, placing her hand on Lucas's shoulder. 

Lucas pauses a moment, then nods. "Yes, Maman," he sighs. "I'll be okay."

"Would you want Eliott to go with you?" she asks, looking at Eliott.

Lucas looks at Eliott, too, and there's something in his eyes that Eliott can't quite read. He sighs, then shakes his head. "I'll be okay."

Eliott finds himself smiling, pride flitting softly in his chest like a heartbeat. "Dr. Garnier is really easy to talk to, Lucas," he says. "He's really good at what he does. He'll help you a lot."

Lucas smiles, too, exhaling slowly. 

"Lucas?" Dr. Garnier's voice calls as he steps into the waiting room. He smiles when he sees them all, approaching them. "You're his mother, I presume?" he asks Madame Lallemant, holding out his hand. 

"Yes, sir," she smiles, shaking his hand. "Madeleine."

"Nice to meet you, Madeleine," he smiles back. "And Lucas, nice to meet you as well," he says, shaking Lucas's hand now. "What happened to your other hand?" he asks, staring at Lucas's injured hand. 

"It's a bit of a long story," Lucas replies shyly.

"We can talk about it once we're alone," Dr. Garnier dismisses. He looks over at Eliott, smiling wider. "It's good to see you again, Eliott. How are you?"

"I'm well," Eliott nods, smiling back. 

"You don't need to see me today, either?" Dr. Garnier asks.

Eliott shakes his head. "Just Lucas."

"Very well," Dr. Garnier nods. "Are you ready, Lucas?"

Lucas nods, standing. He says a quick goodbye to Madame Lallemant and Eliott before following Dr. Garnier to his office. 

Once they hear the door shut behind them, Madame Lallemant sighs deeply, almost shakily.

"I always worried he would end up like me," she says quietly, biting her nails. 

"What do you mean?" Eliott asks, his heart aching for her at her words.

"Sick," she replies, thin and tired. "I don't know if you noticed, you were so young, but… he was different after his father left us. He was able to move on from that, of course, but it changed him more than he admits. He's been becoming more and more like me. He's getting sick."

Maybe it's the exhaustion the past few days have left him with, but tears start filling Eliott's eyes. He shakes his head weakly, fights back the tears. "Lucas is strong. He's just not as strong as he usually is right now. He's not sick."

"You haven't seen him the last two years, Eliott," Madame Lallemant replies fraily. "Nightmares, these…  _ spells _ where he's panicked beyond belief and I can't calm him down… The whole time I was waiting for him to break like I have before. He never did, but… He came so close so many times. He…" A tear rolls down her cheek, then, but she quickly wipes it away. "He started drinking at one point. He would be gone all night but then I would see him at the table at breakfast every morning like nothing ever happened. Like he'd been sound asleep in his bed all night instead of drinking himself dizzy."

Eliott's eyes are wide, his mouth dry. "He was drinking?" he asks quietly, his voice almost not coming out.

"He stopped when he met Chloé," she replies quickly, seeing Eliott's worry. "And even if he hadn't, I was planning on sitting him down and talking to him about it. Back then, I was worried the drinking would have the same effect on him that it did on his father. He was already so much like me, I didn't want him turning into his father, too. But after Chloé, he was almost himself again. He still had nightmares sometimes, but they were only once in a blue moon, really. He wasn't gone all night anymore. And at breakfast, his eyes were sparkling and alive, not glazed over because he's still the slightest bit drunk. He would talk to me, tell me about his day, tell me about all these plans he had with Chloé," she smiles widely, chuckles lightly. But she bites her lip, looking down the hallway where Dr. Garnier's office is. "Now he's not talking to me again. He's going out at night again, but he's never out too late, so I don't think he's drinking again. I don't know what's wrong with him. He's my son and I don't know what's wrong with him. I'm his mother. I'm all he has and he won't turn to me anymore."

Eliott stands, quickly moving to the seat Lucas was sitting in as Madame Lallemant cries harder. He places a careful arm around her shoulder, takes a moment to gather himself before offering any words of comfort.

"He's learning right now, Madame Lallemant," he begins. "He's learning how to rely on people. He's getting the help he needs to do that right now as we speak. He's talking with Dr. Garnier, and the more he talks, the easier it'll get. He needs time. It's painful, but that's all you can give him right now. Give him time and space and make sure he knows that you're there for him when he's ready. And, thankfully, that's all he needs."

Madame Lallemant nods, breathing deeply and wiping away her tears. "Okay," she sighs, nodding. "Okay."

"He's going to be okay," Eliott promises, and this time, his voice doesn't waver. "He's going to go off to school and become the doctor he's always wanted to be, and he's going to be married, and he's going to be the happiest man in the world. He's meant to be successful and happy and the most wonderful person we've ever met."

"He is," she grins, nodding. "He is." 

Eliott grins back, giving her shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze. He waits patiently for her breath to even out, for her tears to dry.

"I never thanked you," Madame Lallemant says before Eliott can think of a way to pick the conversation back up. "For saving him that day. And I never apologized either, for the way I acted when you came to visit him."

Eliott shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize," he dismisses. "It was so long ago."

"You're like a son to me, Eliott," she cuts in. "How could I not apologize to my son?"

Eliott smiles, getting emotional again, nodding once. "I didn't know how to tell you I almost lost him," he shrugs. "I don't think I'd fully processed it anyway. I wouldn't have been able to talk about it."

"I understand," she nods. "I just remember them starting to take his shirt off, and there were all these bruises on his chest…" 

A wave of nausea washes over Eliott for a moment, but he's able to keep himself steady.

"The doctor and the nurses all looked at each other, like they were having a conversation without saying a word. One of the nurses started feeling all over his chest, then he stopped at one spot, saying that one of his ribs was cracked. And the doctor nodded and asked me if my son was unresponsive before we brought him here," her voice catches, and she takes a moment, breathing deeply. "And I asked him if he meant dead, and he nodded. And I said I didn't know, because I wasn't there when it happened, but you were. So he sent someone to find you and ask you about it."

Eliott nods, the memories briefly passing through his mind. 

"I think I was in shock," she shrugs. "First, you run in telling me Lucas needed to go to the hospital because he almost drowned. Then, not even thirty minutes later, someone asks me how long my baby boy was dead for," her voice breaks again, but she keeps talking. "I think I felt guilty, too. I had no way of knowing it was happening, of course, but I wouldn't have been there in his final moments. I wouldn't have been able to tell him how much I love him one more time. I couldn't remember the last thing I had said to him. It had been almost a full day between that last night and the moment you came running in. I was… I was such a mess."

"It's okay," Eliott says softly.

"I need you to know that I was never mad at you, or upset with you, or anything like that," she adds. "If it weren't for you, I would've had to bury my son. It was simply too much for me to handle. Just the  _ thought _ of it. Everything was happening so quickly and—"

"It's okay, Madame Lallemant," Eliott repeats, a little louder. "And I forgive you. I know how much you love Lucas. I've felt how overpowering and all-encompassing a mother's love is. That's all it was. After nearly losing him, you loved him even more than you have before."

Madame Lallemant is quiet for a moment, smiling with teary eyes. "You really do have Noémie's heart, Eliott," she says quietly. "So…  _ full _ and  _ pure _ ."

Eliott bites his lip to keep from smiling to wide.

"And you look  _ just _ like Eduard did when we were all younger," Madame Lallemant adds, a notable sadness in her voice now. "I wonder how your mother stands it sometimes, you know. Seeing  _ so  _ much of him in you."

Eliott's smile fades, and his lower lip remains caught beneath his teeth. He nods weakly, looking down at his lap. "If I had a penny for every time someone's said that to me…" he mumbles, shaking his head now. He doesn't think Madame Lallemant heard him.

"He was about your age when he volunteered for the military," she continues. "Imagine, a boy as young as you are right now going off to war…" she trails off, shaking her head. "I pray for a lot of things every day and night, and one of them is that you and Lucas will never have to go through what your fathers went through." 

"The war killed Papa," Eliott thinks aloud. He doesn't know where the thought came from, only that it ended up on the tip of his tongue. "It doesn't matter that it took over 20 years for it to kill him. It did." 

Madame Lallemant places her hand over his, squeezing it gently. "I know, Eliott," she says softly. "I know."

She drops her hand, and Eliott pulls his arm away. He occupies his hands with the hem of his shorts, absentmindedly tracing the seams. The small curves of each stitch are comforting, steady and constant like a heartbeat. He doesn't mind the silence between him and Madame Lallemant, either. It's not quite comfortable, but it's not intrusive, either. He keeps tracing seams, keeps himself occupied.

Outside, rain begins to pour gently, tapping almost rhythmically on the pavement, on the asphalt. Eliott wishes he could hear the sound of the rain as it falls on the ocean right now. It always sounds different accompanied by the waves, like black and white keys on a piano being played at the same time. Maybe him and Lucas can listen to it when they get home, if Lucas is feeling up to it. Maybe Lucas can memorize the combination of black and white keys and hold it gently in his hands until it's written in the lines of his palms, his fingertips. Then maybe he can play it whenever they miss the sound, or whenever they don't want to go out into the rain themselves. Eliott smiles at the thought, at another secret him and Lucas can keep until later.

A door opens down the hall, and Lucas steps out first, the picture of relief. He smiles as Dr. Garnier steps out and pats him on the shoulder, easy and comfortable. Lucas's smile widens when he looks over and sees Eliott and Madame Lallemant, waving at them as he walks a little faster. Eliott notices faint tearstains on Lucas's cheeks as he approaches them, and a tint of pink at the corner of his eyes, but he's smiling still and breathing easily. 

"How was it,  _ mon cherie _ ?" Madame Lallemant asks, pulling her son into a tight hug. 

"Good, Maman," he replies, kissing her cheek. "I needed it."

"You're feeling better?" she smiles, wiping the stray tears from his face. 

Lucas nods. "Much better." 

"If it's all right with you, Madame," Dr. Garnier begins. "I'd like to see him again next week. But, of course, we can have him back whenever you're available." 

Madame Lallemant nods. "Of course. We should be okay for the same time next week."

"Great," Dr. Garnier smiles. "It was nice meeting you, Madame," He turns to Eliott then, holding out his hand. "It was nice to see you again, too, Eliott. Remember to call if you need anything at all, okay?" 

Eliott shakes Dr. Garnier's hand, smiling back warmly. "I will." 

"Drive safe, okay?" Dr. Garnier says, waving goodbye as he turns on his heel and walks back down the hallway.

Eliott shifts his gaze over to Lucas, and their eyes meet. He relaxes when he sees Lucas smile, take a step closer to him. 

"Thank you, Eliott," Lucas says. "For telling me to do this." 

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, nodding.

"Do you and your maman want to join us for lunch?" Lucas asks. "Maman always buys too much food and we just end up throwing it away. It'll be like the old days, too."

Eliott grins, nodding. "I'd love to. And I'm sure Maman would love to join, too."

Lucas grins, too, bowing his head. His grin has shrunk to half of a smile when he looks back up. "Let's go." 

* * *

_ august 16th, 1968 _

_ 18:34 _

_ caen, france _

~

Since he came home from the institution, Eliott helps his mother with the dishes almost every night. She reassures him she can do them herself on the days where his mood was lower than usual, but for the past few weeks they've been able to do them together. 

It's comforting to Eliott, doing something so casual and mundane with his mother. They talk about what their days were like, or whatever random thoughts come to their mind. Lately, his mother has been talking about all the TV shows she's been watching. Eliott hasn't seen any of them, but he lets his mother explain every character and every plotline because it always makes her smile, makes her eyes light up. 

"Have you talked to Lucas recently?" she asks tonight, a hopeful yet relaxed look on her face.

Eliott shakes his head. "Not since we had lunch with them the other day. He told me right before we left that he was going up to Paris for a couple of days to tour his school."

"He'll be starting his first semester soon, won't he?" she replies, cleaning a spot on a plate that Eliott missed.

"Beginning of September, I think," Eliott nods. "Hopefully he'll find someone that can help him like Dr. Garnier while he's there."

"I'm sure there's plenty of people in Paris that can help him," his mother smiles, but it begins to fade from her face as a beat of silence hangs between them. "I just feel bad that you two just reconciled and now he has to go to school."

"It's okay, Maman," Eliott reassures her. "We'll write letters. He'll be here for the holidays. This isn't goodbye for us." 

"But you'll miss him," she says, rather quietly.

"Of course I'll miss him," Eliott agrees, shrugging. "But I know that he'll miss me, too." 

His mother smiles again, sighing contentedly. "You know, Ellie, Papa always said that God gives us people we're meant to fall in love with. But I think He also gives us best friends, someone we love in a different way, but we love them with a love just as powerful as the romantic kind. I think God meant for you two to be best friends."

"Was Papa your best friend, too?" Eliott asks, unable to help but think the two loves could be intertwined. "Or was he just the person you were meant to love?"

She considers, tears filling her eyes. "He was both," she nods. She fidgets with her wedding band, smoothing her finger over it. "He was both."

"I think I've found someone who's both, too," Eliott begins, not stumbling over a single word. He remembers saying the truth resting on the tip of his tongue to his father's grave, remembers the way saying it aloud reminded him that he'll never know if his father's love was unconditional. He remembers Lucas's voice echoing hauntingly in the empty chapel as he says they could never be just friends again, as he says that he loves him, always has loved him, will never stop loving him. He remembers how much he kept from his mother whenever she asked him what had happened with Lucas. He wonders how much his world will change all over again once those fateful words leave his lips. 

"You have?" his mother asks after a moment, her face unreadable. 

Eliott nods, tries to breathe but his chest is too tight. Somehow, the words strangle out of his throat: "I love Lucas, Maman." 

"Oh," breathes, her eyes flitting as they must be scanning through memory after memory. She looks back at Eliott after a moment, softening when she sees his tense, nervous expression. "Is… that why you were so upset when you came home? You love him, but he's in love with Chloé."

Eliott nods weakly. "And because we were together. Before I had to go to the institution. I thought we were still together, but somewhere along the way it ended without me knowing. I came home, and it was over."

His mother blinks, shaking her head slightly. "How long were you together? When did you…"

"About a month and a half before Papa died," Eliott replies, his voice growing thin and weak. "Not very long at all, since after that night we just wrote letters. But that month and a half held some of the best days of my life, Maman. Because he was mine and I was his. Because he loved me and I loved him, too."

"Does a part of him still love you?" she asks quietly, watching for any reaction from Eliott that says she's crossed a line, asked the wrong question. 

"I don't know how much of his whole it takes up," Eliott sighs, shrugging. "But there is a part of him that does. He's… He's told me so. That he still loves me." 

"Does Madeleine know about this?" his mother continues, subconsciously looking in the direction of the Lallemants' house. 

Eliott looks too, his heart sinking as the answer comes to his mind. "I don't think so." 

Tears spring in his mother's eyes again. "Did… Papa know about this?"

Eliott instinctually bites down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He shakes his head as he waits for the lump in his throat to dissolve. It never does. "No," he chokes out. He realizes the lump in his throat is the memory of telling the truth to a stone. It claws at his throat, scratches behind his eyelids. "He never knew. I never got to tell him…" He trails off, a sob stopping his voice. 

A tear rolls down his mother's cheek, becomes lost in the crease of her wobbling frown. "Then tell  _ me _ , honey," she sobs. " _ Tell _ me. Tell me what you never got to tell him."

The lump, the memory in his throat seems to burst, filling his chest and mouth with a burning, bitter taste. He almost chokes on it, but he's able to take a deep, steadying breath. "I'm queer, Maman," he repeats from that day at the cemetery, the first time living ears will hear him say the words. "My heart's stammered for girls before, but it can skip a beat for boys, too. My heart can fall in love with anyone I think, but it's loved Lucas above all else. It loves him because he's beautiful and stubborn and wonderful and paper-thin and  _ warm _ . I've… I've loved him my whole life, I think. I think I'll love him forever." 

"Even after everything that's happened?" his mother asks, still quiet, hesitant. "Even still?"

"Even still," Eliott nods, his voice clearing enough to make the words sound as resolute and sure as they feel on his tongue. He holds his breath once they leave his mouth, though, his heart bracing, steadying itself against his ribcage. He can't bear that awful weight he felt at the cemetery again. He  _ can't _ .

But his mother  _ smiles _ , ear to ear, a new sun appearing and shining in her eyes. She lifts her hands to cradle her son's face, wipe away his tears. This only makes Eliott cry harder—the warmth of her hands, her love. He places her hands on top of hers, holds them as tightly as he can. 

"My sweet Ellie," she sighs, her voice thick with tears now, too. "There's nothing else in this world I love more than you." 

A sob bursts like joy from Eliott's throat, choking him with the refrain of a majestic orchestra. He drops his hands and envelops his mother in his arms, wishing he'll never have to let her go. She slowly guides him to the floor as his knees become weak with relief, keeping him safe close to her chest.

"I'll never forget," she begins, running her hands through his hair. "The day Papa and I went to the doctor and he told me I was pregnant. We'd been trying for over three years to have a baby, and suddenly we had one. I squeezed Papa's hand and looked down at my belly and my heart burst like it never had before. You were the smallest you'd ever be and my love for you was bigger than my body will ever be. And it was immediate. The  _ love _ I had for the baby I was carrying. The love I had for  _ you _ . And it keeps growing. The day you were born, and I held you and looked at your sweet, little face for the first time and you were  _ real _ and you were  _ mine _ . The day you learned to walk and talk and sing and play. Every birthday and Christmas. Every drawing you've ever given me, every smile. My love for you grows  _ every single day _ . It could never shrink, let alone disappear completely. Especially in a single moment. There's nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you." 

Eliott's tears keep running down his face, staining his mother's shirt. "What about Papa?" he asks, his voice muffled. 

"I wish you could've known just how much he loved you, honey," she replies, close to sobbing now, too. "Every time he got sick, he would get scared that it was his time and that he would leave you. He was always afraid he wouldn't get to say goodbye to you. That night… He was begging everyone who would listen that he needed to see his boy one last time, before God took him home. Every doctor, every nurse, random people passing by his room. He couldn't bear the idea of never seeing you again. If you had had the chance to tell him, I think he would love you even more for being so brave and so  _ yourself _ ." 

Another sob escapes Eliott's throat, his mother's words replacing the memory of the silence of the cemetery. He urges the words to echo in his mind, to keep filling the silence, to keep reminding himself of the fact that he was blessed with two best parents he could've asked for. He reminds himself to never forget that he is loved, despite everything. 

"I'm so happy you trusted me enough to tell me, Eliott," his mother says, kissing the top of his head. "I'm just so proud of you. You'll always be my baby boy." 

"Thank you, Maman," Eliott replies, his voice flooded with tears of joy. "I love you so much." 

"I love you, too," his mother returns, pulling away and helping him to his feet. "Let me make you some tea, honey."

"We just did dishes," Eliott replies, slightly fatigued now.

"I'll just need the kettle and a cup," she dismisses, turning around to give him a kind, reassuring smile. "It won't be the end of the world if I use those."

Eliott returns the smile, sitting at his usual place at the table. He watches her make the tea, the way she treats everything so carefully and so lovingly. He's overwhelmingly glad his doubts about her were so wrong he wonders where they came from in the first place. The whistling of the kettle doesn't make him jump like it usually does.

She sets the tea in front of him, the teabag already steeping and curling in the nearly boiling water. He wraps his hands around the cup, the warmth becoming softer when his mother moves her hands on top of his. She squeezes lightly before pulling away, sitting across from him.

"What's happening between you and Lucas?" she asks quietly. "Is he going to stay with Chloé?"

Eliott bobs the teabag, shrugging. He doesn't want to recount what Lucas had said about her in the church earlier that week, so he comes up with an innocent lie. "Probably. I don't blame him. I never could." 

"But he loves you," his mother replies. "He loves you the way you love him?"

Eliott nods. "I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous it is for people like us, Maman. He doesn't want to fight the rest of his life."

"Do you?" she asks, even quieter now.

Eliott bites his lip, looks at the darkening liquid in his cup instead of his mother's eyes. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "For Lucas, I would. But I can't force him into a battle he doesn't want to fight just because  _ I _ want him to. That's not what loving someone is. It's fighting  _ with _ them, not  _ for _ them." 

"The people we love can only fight for so long," his mother replies. "We need to let them rest.  _ That's _ when we fight  _ for _ them. When they can't fight for themselves." She sighs, taking Eliott's hand again. He looks up, his heart softening when he sees the earnest, passionate curl to her lip as she continues. "Honey, maybe… Maybe Lucas needs to rest right now. Maybe soon he'll be ready to fight again. And if he is, he'll find you and stay by your side as long as he can." 

Eliott smiles, squeezing her hand. "Maybe." 

His mother smiles back, tears reappearing in her eyes. "Don't give up on him. Even if he doesn't love you the way you want him to, you still need each other. You still complete each other. You're still best friends."

Eliott nods. "I won't, Maman. I promise." 

"He needs to hear you promise that to  _ him _ , too, Eliott," she tells him. "Especially after the week he's had…" 

Eliott nods again. "I know." He sighs, looking over his shoulder to stare at the small part of Lucas's house he can see through the window. "I know." 

"There's a reason you were able to save him that day," his mother continues. "And there's a reason he was able to save you that night."

"I know," Eliott repeats one more time, remembering him saying the same thing to Lucas in the chapel. "But I'm not sure if Lucas knows has fully realized that yet." 

"All the more reason to talk to him," his mother smiles. "There's still so much more he needs to know and you need to tell him those things. As soon as you can."

Eliott looks back again at Lucas's house. "Should I go over there now? See if he's home?"

"I think it's worth it to try, honey," she nods. 

"Okay," Eliott nods back, rising from his seat. He sighs when he sees the pride in his mother's eyes, pride of his own filling his chest. "I don't know what I would do without you, Maman."

His mother's watery smile widens as she rises, too, giving her son another tight, loving hug. "I love you, Ellie."

"I love you, too, Maman."

Then, a knock at the door. They both jump, pull away from each other's embrace. 

"I'll answer it," Eliott tells her, crossing to the front of the house.

A laugh nearly escapes his throat when he opens the door and sees Lucas standing there, hopeful.

"I was… I was just about to come and see you," Eliott says, letting himself chuckle.

Lucas chuckles, too, his eyes crinkling. He pauses, his smile fading slightly. He looks towards the sea, taking a deep breath. He looks back at Eliott. "I know it's not Sunday, but… Do you want to build some sandcastles?"

* * *

_ august 16th, 1968 _

_ 19:10 _

_ caen, france _

~

Eliott lets Lucas lead him down the beach, making sure he doesn't force him closer to the shore than he's comfortable with. He watches Lucas, too, trying to pay as much attention to his body language as he can. Lucas doesn't seem anxious at first, only wound up slightly, but his nerves seem to build with every step. His eyes keep flitting between the sand beneath his feet and the horizon ahead of him, most likely trying to keep himself from going too far, too. He's squeezing his hand again, right over left. He'll stop occasionally—look beneath, ahead, behind, at Eliott—but then keep walking. He walks a little slower each time, his shoulders drawing further and further inward, his body close to collapsing in on itself.

"We don't have to do this, Lucas," Eliott says, almost begging. "I can tell you're anxious. You don't have to do this for me." 

:Lucas stops again, turning around. He bites his lip, keeping his eyes on Eliott's as they plead  _ trust me, please _ . Lucas must've seen the recognition cross Eliott's face because the plea is gone with a blink. "Here's a good spot," he replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

Eliott takes a deep breath, nodding. He sits next to Lucas, who's already started gathering handfuls of sand. Eliott watches the streams of gritty glass flowing from between his fingers, watches them catch the light of the setting sun and send out a burst of crying, white light. He feels the urge to find every grain of it and hold it in the palms of his hands, let them bury themselves in the lines there so they'll know they're safe. He knows, too, how it feels to slip from Lucas's grasp, if only for a moment. Maybe empathy is what's giving him that urge, too. 

Lucas isn't looking at him. He's studying the piles of sand he's built into a small mound, the piles currently melting in his hands. His mouth is open as if he's about to say something, but a minute or two passes by and not even the smallest sound comes out. He looks out at the sea, and Eliott can't see his face.

"I can still taste it sometimes," Lucas says. "The ocean. Filling my lungs and…" 

Eliott doesn't know what to say. He sighs, debating whether he should reach out and place his hand on Lucas's shoulder. But Lucas turns and looks at him again, his face tired, reassuring him that he doesn't need Eliott to say anything at all.

Lucas's lips are chapped, Eliott notices. Pink as can be, but cracking. Eliott remembers all the times he kissed those lips, all the times those lips formed the words that his heart and mind needed more than anything. He imagines those lips kissing Chloé, kissing a bottle or a glass—

"Your maman told me about the drinking," Eliott blurts, the image too strong in his mind to simply ignore it.

Lucas's hands open completely, the sand falling with a dull thud. His head snaps towards Eliott's direction, his eyes wide but never meeting Eliott's. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his eyelids falling slightly as he nods. "I hated it, but it made me forget everything for a few hours. And it was easier to kiss girls when I could barely tell they  _ were _ girls." 

"But you stopped because of Chloé," Eliott replies. "Right?"

"Technically yes, but not really in the way you'd think," Lucas shrugs as he trails off. "She made sure I never went to pubs or parties. She made sure we went places where it was hard for me to get a drink. I'm glad she did, don't get me wrong. God knows, I could be dead right now if she didn't. But she wasn't as good of a distraction as the drinks were. I just latched onto the fact that she probably saved my life, and how can I not love someone who's done that for me? What kind of heartless…  _ thing _ would I be if I didn't?"

Eliott bites his tongue as the only logical question he could come up with appears at the back of his mind.  _ You really loved me, right?  _ He knows the answer, but the doubt and discouragement in Lucas's voice makes him second-guess, if only for a moment. 

"You're not heartless," Eliott says instead, choosing comfort over query. "Your heart just doesn't belong to her."

Lucas shakes his head. "It can't." 

Eliott nods, almost hesitantly. "It can't."

"You don't have to be afraid to talk about her, Eliott," Lucas sighs, pity written in his voice. "Or the way I am. Sometimes I feel like you're more afraid of everything than I am." 

Eliott is speechless. "L-Lucas, what—"

"I think we need to stop dancing around what happened to us. What we are," Lucas continues when Eliott trails off. "We're queers. I drowned, and I was dead. You tried to kill yourself. You have manic depressive disorder. There's  _ words _ we can use, Eliott, and I think it's time we start using them." 

Eliott nods weakly, slightly overwhelmed by Lucas's sudden conviction. 

Lucas sighs deeply, composing himself. "I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but… I've been thinking a lot since Sunday, since my appointment with Dr. Garnier… There's a reason you were able to save me that day, Eliott."

Eliott can't fight the smile that appears on his face. "And there's a reason you were able to save me that night."

Lucas smiles, his eyes brightening as he nods. "Yeah. There's a reason we're both alive right now. I don't know what the reason is, but maybe we could spend some time looking for it."

"How will we?" Eliott asks, trying to sound brave. But Lucas is right. He  _ is _ afraid.

Lucas chuckles, shaking his head. "Where do I begin," Eliott hears him mutter. He looks up, speaking louder now. "I have some things to tell you first."

Eliott shifts uncomfortably, nodding. "Okay."

"I talked to Chloé," Lucas begins. "I told her that I'm queer."

Eliott's eyes widen. "Oh," he replies dumbly.

"And I told her that I'm still in love with you."

Eliott feels pink creep along his cheekbones, reaching the tips of his ears. "Oh." 

Warm blossoms bloom on Lucas's cheeks, too, but he somehow manages to make them wilt and disappear. "Eliott, she was  _ relieved. _ "

Eliott's jaw drops now. "What do you mean?"

"She's a queer, too," Lucas replies, disbelief and amusement mingling strangely in his voice. "Chloé is queer, like us. She's in love with her best friend, Maria."

Eliott laughs, too, clumsily. "So?"

"We've called off the engagement," Lucas sighs in relief, gathering more sand in his hands. 

"Have you told your maman?" Eliott asks cautiously.

Lucas's shoulders tense; barely, but enough for Eliott to notice. "Not yet," he answers quietly as his shoulders relax. "I thought about just telling her that Chloé is queer, but that'd be terrible of me. I don't know if I'm ready to tell her the truth." 

"It's okay if you aren't," Eliott reassures him, digging his hands in the sand next to Lucas's. 

"I know," Lucas shrugs, smiling sadly. "I don't want to live the rest of my life without telling her. I know I would regret it." He glances at Eliott, then, silently asking for confirmation.

Eliott nods, unable to admit out loud that not coming out to his father is quite possibly the biggest regret he'll ever have. His throat is starting to swell with tears again. 

"She won't be here forever," Lucas says quietly, trying to knit his fingers to where no sand would slip through them. "No matter how much I beg God that she will." 

Eliott reaches, cupping his hands beneath Lucas's to catch any falling sand. Only a small trickle escapes, but it lands warm and soft onto Eliott's waiting palms. He's careful to keep them directly beneath the stream, refusing to let a single grain touch the ground. 

He looks over at Lucas when he feels his eyes on him, his breath catching. There are tears in Lucas's eyes, but they aren't a puddle pooling at his lashline. They're like stars scattered in the night sky; freckles of light set randomly yet perfectly in place. 

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, as if the words were sealing his final breath. 

Gravity rubs circles into Eliott's back, gently pushing him forward. Eliott lets himself fall, feeling heat rise and bloom like a heartbeat as he draws closer and closer to Lucas. He only resists the pull when their lips aren't even a breath apart.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice a note away from silence.

"Yes," Lucas responds, his own voice breaking. "Please." 

Eliott tilts his head until his lips fit perfectly against Lucas's. In that moment, the entire world and every parallel universe fell back into place. It feels like it all had been standing still until now. It's all moving again now, dancing in its natural rhythm as the kiss deepens, broadens. 

Both their hands fall open and spill the sand they were holding as they suddenly remember the path they're supposed to be on—weaving through Eliott's hair, standing steady at the curve of Lucas's neck. How could they ever have gotten lost? How could they have ever forgotten the places that were made for them?

Eliott's hands say,  _ forgive me _ , as they find Lucas's heartbeat. Lucas's hands reply as they kiss Eliott's scalp,  _ there's nothing to forgive, now that we've found each other again _ . 

Eliott remembers him and Lucas's very first kiss feeling like coming home. But after two years, after everything that's happened, Eliott is realizing that first kiss was  _ finding _ home. The exhilaration and peace of finally having a place you know belongs to you.  _ Finding _ home comes with tears of joy, breathlessness.  _ This _ kiss, the one he wishes will never end, was coming home. A sigh of relief, a calming of the heart. You walk through the door and the smell you've become blind to comes rushing back, and that name of  _ home _ is the only way you can describe it. Everything is the same, exactly how you left it. Safety, familiarity—something bigger, stronger than belonging. Home is everything you can't name but know better than the back of your hand. Kissing Lucas is home. 

Lucas must have come to the same conclusion, because the kiss becomes a mess of lip-splitting smiles and knocking teeth. Eliott has never had a kiss like this, and he prays that every time he kisses Lucas from now on he'll have that exact same thought. 

Eliott's lips feel weightless, slightly numb when Lucas pulls away to laugh, but  _ feeling _ explodes in his chest, bubbles in his stomach. He laughs along with Lucas, their music more beautiful and rich than the crashing of the waves could ever be. 

They kiss again, but in bursts. Their lips touch, then break apart, touch, break apart. The brief moments where their lips are pressed together are more relieving than the only slightly longer moments of fresh, salty sea air. Soon, the kisses last longer as their laughter dies in their chests, replaced with fuzzy, addicting warmth. They kiss until they need to stop for breath, still never pulling too far away from each other, never quite opening their eyes. 

When Eliott finally does open his eyes, the sun has become a golden, crescent moon upon the lip of the sea. The first shadows of night are beginning to touch Lucas and Eliott, bringing the slightest bites of cold with them. Lucas shivers, his eyelids fluttering, his lip trembling. 

Eliott pulls him into his embrace, letting his eyes close again. All he wants is to stay here. The world could end just beyond his eyelids and he wouldn't bother to notice. But then again, the world has shrunk into the Lucas-shaped mass quaking in his arms, and he wasn't going to let anyone touch it. 

Eliott's heart finally bursts when he hears Lucas whisper, "I missed loving you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after this chapter, there's only more and then the epilogue!! i'm not quite ready for this journey to be over, but luckily i have plenty of good things coming in these last two updates!!!
> 
> i'm still super busy with school, but hopefully once classes end i'll have more time to write this fic!!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ottelis!!
> 
> i hope you all have a good day/night/week and keep staying safe and healthy!


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